


Too Sweet For Me

by aila_anomaly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Artist!Keith, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Extremely Slow to Update, Im still working on it i swear, Just take my trash, Lance is the sugar daddy btw, M/M, POV Alternating, Read at Your Own Risk, SO, Smut, Sugar Daddy, also, cause im a sucker for it, don't expect much, idk what else to tag, idk what im doing tbh, klangst, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aila_anomaly/pseuds/aila_anomaly
Summary: Keith needs money to keep himself from hitting rock bottom, Lance just wants someone expendable to fill the void.~Keith and Lance stumble through the do’s and don’ts of sugar dating.Inspired by the incredible@escortkeith'sSugar Daddy AU prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please don't fact check 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: i have no idea wtf im doing. just bear with me
> 
> Also, I'm sorry the first chapter is so boring. It gets better I promise.

Keith unlocks the door to his apartment and pushes it open, cringing a little at how loudly the hinges creak in the midst of the stuffy silence of the hallway. His closest neighbors probably aren't asleep yet - he can hear various televisions and faint conversations behind closed doors - but the noise still feels too out of place. Keith hurries inside, clutching his bag and keys in one hand, and his painting in the other.

Unsold painting, that is. Yet another commission he had spent a whole week on, turned aside because some douchebag decided he wasn't interested anymore. That asshole hadn't even bothered to tell him in advance, completely violating their contract and letting Keith show up at his door with the finished product in his hands and a forced smile to go with it. Keith had left the scene fuming and red in the face with embarrassment after being told that 'the deal is off'. Aside from the legalities of the situation and the emptiness of his wallet, Keith finds himself more distraught over what made his client lose interest.

What's wrong with him? With his art? Is he just not good enough anymore?

All questions he isn't sure he wants answers to.

Keith leans his painting against the wall, not bothering to be careful with it anymore, then drops his bag and keys on the floor and kicks his sneakers off to the side. Keith flops down face first onto his unmade bed and heaves a heavy sigh into the thin sheets.

He hates this. All of it.

The dingy studio apartment, littered with crappy art supplies and half-finished artwork. His minimum wage job. The pile of overdue bills on the kitchen counter and the empty fridge and cupboards. His asshole neighbors and the noisy traffic outside his window. The old springs in his bed that press uncomfortably against his too tired body. He can't go on like this, barely making enough to pay the rent, and hardly anything left in his pockets to pay for basic shit, like food. Keith's stomach grumbles at the thought of eating something, but he ignores it. No dinner tonight means more dinner tomorrow.

After lying there for a solid ten minutes, Keith contemplates drifting off to sleep in efforts to briefly forget the day's affairs. Just a few hours of unconsciousness to recharge - that's all he really needs. The familiar jingle of a novelty keychain against keys in the hallway outside his door, however, suddenly keeps Keith wide awake.

Pidge.

He'd forgotten she was coming over, like the amazing friend that he is. Oh well, sleep can wait a few more hours. Keith turns his head towards the door and watches as she flings it open, not even bothering to knock, then shuts it behind her.

"You have _got_ to start locking your door. Seriously, anyone can just walk right in. Like me, for example."

Keith is grateful that they've reached a point in their relationship where any sense of formality is long gone. Leave it to Pidge to bust his door down and unknowingly help him take his mind off of things, even if it's just for a little while. Her presence pulls his lips into a tiny smile.

She slips her shoes off and tosses her bag onto a stool with a loud thud. "What if I was a psychotic murderer or something?"

Keith rolls over on his side to look at her with feigned confusion. "You mean you're not?"

She crosses her arms. "Not to your knowledge." Pidge is silent for a moment. "I'm hungry," she declares and turns back towards the kitchen.

 _That makes two of us_ , he thinks to himself.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead and help yourself to the abundance of food in the fridge." Keith moves to lie on his back and tuck his hands behind his head. He's pretty sure the only food he has left are a few sorry packages of ramen noodles he'd been saving for when he's on the brink of starvation. Pidge sighs upon making the discovery.

"Shit, Keith. How do you live like this?" He doesn't bother replying and ignores the small rush of blood to his cheeks as she continues her search. Pidge plants one knee onto the countertop and uses a shelf to hoist herself up for a better look at the lack of food in the cabinets. "Man, all you eat are these damn noodles. I'm surprised you're not dead yet."

Keith rolls his eyes. "I'm not gonna die from eating ramen noodles, Pidge."

"You say that now, but overtime all that sodium and those genetically modified organisms are really gonna take a toll on your body. I mean, you're already pathetically skinny."

He blows a strand of hair away from his eyes and glances down at his 'pathetically skinny' frame. "Whatever."

"When you die from a ramen noodle overdose, I'm going to stand over your grave and say I told you so."

Keith watches as Pidge grabs a package of beef flavored noodles and throws it on the counter. "If they're so horrible, why are _you_ eating them?"

Pidge drops down to the floor from her kneeling position on the counter. "Eating them every once in a while is perfectly fine. Plus, I'm hungry and this is literally all you have." She crushes the contents of the packet, then opens it and pours the seasoning in. After she's done shaking the mixture, Pidge plunges her small fingers into the bag. Keith grimaces as she pops a chunk of dry noodles into her mouth.

"That is disgusting. Why can't you just cook them like a normal person?"

Pidge licks seasoning off of her fingers dramatically and climbs onto the bed to sit next to Keith. "I refuse to use the water from this building. It's probably loaded with chemicals, and I for one, am not interested in developing any kind of chronic illness."

Well she isn't wrong. The water does smell like a community pool, and even tastes like it should be used to clean the floors. Keith drinks it anyways, since buying a twenty-four pack of water bottles is just not in his budget.

"So what's up mopey?" She pokes his ribs and places her uncooked noodles off to the side. Keith closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

It's easy to confide in Pidge. She's a pretty good listener - even if she does have a big mouth - and always seems to know what to say. So he tells her the reoccurring problem of the day.

"I'm broke. I need money."

"Don't you have a job?" Keith opens his eyes only to stare at the ceiling with its many cracks and chipped paint.

"Yeah, but I've been earning nothing but minimum wage ever since I started working there. It's not enough anymore."

"Ok . . . What about that commission you've been working on for the past week?"

Keith keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he points to the covered painting on the other side of the room.

"I'm so sorry Keith. Maybe someone else will buy it."

He tries to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum. "Sure."

She sighs, and Keith is taken aback by the softness of her usually harsh voice. "You know, you're always welcome to stay with Matt and I until you can get back on your feet. We'd be more than happy to have another roommate."

Keith shakes his head. The offer doesn't go unappreciated, but he would rather live in a box than have people be obligated to take care of him. "I refuse to be a burden. You shouldn't have to worry about me, I can solve my own problems."

It's silent between the two of them for a few moments. Then Pidge groans. "Ugh, you and your stupid pride."

And the softness is gone.

She slides off the bed with a creaking protest from the mattress and marches over to her bag.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding you a way to make some damn money." Pidge pulls out her laptop and hops back onto the bed, settling into the pillows against the wall behind him. She begins tapping away at her keyboard rapidly, and Keith considers urging her not to worry about it. He hates having people do things for him when he's perfectly capable of doing it himself. Then again, he hasn't really been making much progress in the "make some damn money" department, so it's not like he can justify refusing her help. Besides, he's tired, hungry and in no mood to argue with a determined Pidge, so Keith lets her search for a solution to his predicament.

A few minutes of noisy silence later, and Pidge suddenly sits up, startling Keith in the process. He'd almost been lulled to sleep by the constant sound of her fingers hitting the keyboard.

" _Oooo_ , what about a sugar daddy?"

He blinks - once, then twice - not quite sure that he heard her correctly. "A sugar what now?" Keith tilts his head backwards to stare at an upside down Pidge.

"You know, a sugar daddy. A really rich guy, or girl - though I suppose they'd be called sugar mommas - who basically pays someone or offers financial help in exchange for companionship." Pidge pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and looks at Keith pointedly. "And you, my friend, are in serious need of financial help. Plus you're super fucking lonely. This is totally perfect." She begins typing again before Keith has the chance to defend himself and stop her from expounding on this god awful idea.

A sugar daddy? Really? How the hell did Pidge stumble across that idea? Aren't sugar daddies just crusty old guys with a lot of money that hook up with pretty girls who need some cash? Yeah, no thank you. Keith'll pass.

"There's tons of sites," Pidge continues without missing a beat. "Oh this one looks good! It's pretty popular from the looks of it." God please no, is what Keith wants to say, but the words fade back into his throat as he reminds himself that his pleas will fall on deaf ears. Once Pidge gets an idea, there's no stopping her, so he lets her continue. She's quiet as she reads to herself, eyes flickering back and forth across the screen behind her large glasses.

"Wow. If I wasn't a literal potato with limbs, I'd sign up for this."

"Better you than me," Keith mumbles under his breath. Why couldn't she have found something easy and less humiliating like, a fucking desk job, or just anything but that. There has to be something else, some other option. Another part-time job perhaps?

"Look, they even have an app. Download it on your phone and I'll help you set up your profile."

"No."

"Yes!"

"Why?!"

"Because! There are so many things you can get out of this!"

"Like what?"

"Money, vacations," she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "sex."

Keith rolls over onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows in a rather exasperated gesture. "I am _not_ fucking some old, pasty, rich guy for money."

She rolls her eyes and points to the empty spot next to her. "Sit."

Keith reluctantly shuffles over to plop down beside her, arms crossed and eyebrows pinched together. This whole idea is ridiculous.

"You don't have to fuck anybody if you don't want to. As a sugar baby, you get to state exactly what is it you do and do not want."

Keith nods as an indication for her to continue, to somehow convince him that this is a good idea. He's not too proud to admit that he's running out of options.

"When you set up your profile, you get to be as nitpicky as you want. If you want something simply platonic, go for it. But not all of the guys on here are old and creepy, you know. There's probably a ton of young, hot, super successful entrepreneurs that would love to get in your pants while simultaneously shower you in gifts and affection and Benjamin Franklins. And of course once you're not dirt poor anymore and you're financially stable, you can just break up with them if you've had enough."

Pidge makes it sound so easy, so simple; but Keith knows better. He gazes at the website she has pulled up on her computer screen. A 'sugar relationship' is still a relationship - platonic or not - and if there's one thing Keith is certain of, he sucks at relationships. This is crazy.

"Think about it," Pidge grabs the sides of his face and squishes his cheeks between her palms, forcing him to look at her. "You get yourself a smokin' hot sugar daddy, feign interest for a few months and show him a good time, make hella money, and then be on your way. And if you don't want sex, I'm sure there are plenty of guys just looking for someone to keep them company. You can have a relationship without all the emotional bullshit. Trust me, this idea isn't as horrible as you think it is." She finally releases his face and leans back to her original position against the wall. "Or, if you insist on being stubborn, you can just go look for another crappy, minimum wage job to barely keep you going."

Why is Pidge acting like this is the only option? There's other ways to make money. Granted, they definitely won't come with the afore mentioned benefits.

 _Stop it_ , Keith chides himself, _don't give in._

"So, just to be clear, your plan is . . . find a hot sugar daddy, pretend to be genuinely interested, get rich . . . then dump him and go on with my life as though nothing ever happened?"

"Yes, exactly."

Keith pretends to contemplate that for a moment, bringing a finger up to tap on his chin thoughtfully. "Mmm, no," he finally states bluntly.

"Oh, come on! I gave you a motivational speech! Just download the app!"

"No, this is stupid! I'm not cut out for this! I don't even know anything about being a sugar baby, or whatever. I doubt anyone will even want me!"

Pidge shoves her laptop off of her lap and faces Keith directly, hands on her hips. "I don't care. Do it."

"No."

"Do it."

"No."

" _Do it._ " Pidge picks up her half-finished package of ramen and tilts it until the contents threaten to spill out and onto Keith's bed.

"You wouldn't dare."

She shrugs and tilts the bag further. "It doesn't have to be this way, Keith. Just download the app. Trust me, this is for your own good." They have a staring contest for a good thirty seconds before Keith breaks and grabs his phone with a huff.

"You are despicable."

"Yeah yeah, you'll thank me later."

Sure he will, because this plan to get rich quick is absolutely foolproof. He'll humor her though; download the app, set up a profile, make half-ass attempts to connect with people. And if - when - her scheme fails, he'll rub it in her smug face.

But then what? Go back to worrying about whether or not he's going to be able to afford to eat?

The realization hits Keith like a brick.

This is probably his best chance at making more money; his only chance at the moment. Damn it. Keith hates it when he contradicts himself.

His phone, as always, takes forever to load the app store, and even longer to download the app. He takes one last look at Pidge with her shit-eating grin before he opens the application and goes through the basics of setting up his account.

Male, Sugar Baby, Interested in men, Single, etc.

What should his username be?

 **Red_Lion** earns a thumbs up from an excited Pidge.

Everything after that seems excruciatingly tedious. Keith is answering questions about himself he'd never considered before, and checking off boxes next to options he didn't think mattered in the slightest. Pidge was right though, he does get to be nitpicky; a small comfort in this otherwise awkward ordeal.

Towards the end of creating his profile, Keith comes across the most dreaded part of the process.

"You need a profile picture," Pidge declares as if it weren't already obvious.

"I . . . don't have any pictures of myself."

"That's okay, I have tons of pictures of you on my phone. There's bound to be a few good ones you can choose from."

"Wait. When did you take pictures of me?"

"Oh you know, just some candid shots here and there when we're hanging out."

"So when ever we hang out together, you take random pictures of me without my consent?"

"Well when you say it like that it makes me sound creepy. But yeah. Hold on, I'll text you the good ones."

Keith decides he isn't mad at Pidge when he sees the pictures she sends him a minute later. He's never really been one to take pictures of himself, or have his picture taken. Keith just isn't photogenic. Or so he thought. Scrolling through the photos Pidge just sent has him changing his mind. There's close to a dozen altogether, each one capturing a moment where Keith looks happy, relaxed, peaceful; all the things he wishes he could be on a daily basis, compiled into a handful of images.

"Pidge, these are awesome."

"Yes, I know, I'm a brilliant photographer. Now seduce them. Seduce the daddies like you mean it."

Keith snorts at her ridiculously worded demand. "With my profile picture?"

"Precisely."

He rolls his eyes and selects something simple. A few weeks ago he and Pidge snuck onto the roof of her apartment building to watch the sunset. Keith hadn't been paying much attention to what Pidge was doing as he watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. He'd been in deep thought, considering all the burning colors of the setting sun, the silhouettes of the city's buildings, and the best possible way to capture the moment on a canvas. Keith sat on the very edge of the roof, letting his legs dangle dangerously over the side. The last rays of sunlight highlighting his face and hair in orange hues. He was smiling - a genuine sign of happiness.

And Pidge captured it all perfectly.

Keith finalizes his account feeling oddly confident. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. It's not like he has anything to lose. Except, maybe, his dignity. Eh, whatever. Besides, Keith's had one night stands before. Sex with a (preferably hot) stranger wouldn't be absolutely awful, and it would certainly be more interesting than a few long months of platonic companionship. If he's going to do this, _really do this_ , it's going to be worth his time.

"Now all we do is wait for your account to be approved."

"Oh joy."

"Lighten up, this might actually be fun!"

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one doing it."

Pidge only shrugs.

Two and a half hours worth of conspiracy theory videos later, and Keith's phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket against his thigh. Pidge leans over to get a better look at his screen as he clears the notification and refreshes the app. "Wow that was fast."

"Yeah . . ." Keith was kind of hoping he wouldn't have to think about this again until tomorrow. He does a quick scroll through the suggested sugar daddies, but his mind is too jumbled to focus on any of the profiles.

"Alrighty then. That's my que," Pidge shuts her laptop and scoots off the bed.

"You're going home?"

"Yep. I'll let you take it from here, I think I've done enough."

He hastily turns his phone off and places it on the small bedside table before joining Pidge on her way to the door. "'Done enough' is an understatement. You've set me up for a disaster."

Pidge shoulders her bag and tugs on her shoes. "Oh please, drama queen. You'll thank me eventually."

"Doubtful." Keith opens the door for her, and she turns to face him.

"Remember," she reaches up above her head to place her hands on Keith's shoulders and look him straight in the eyes. " _Seduce the daddies_."

And with that being said, Pidge turns around and walks out the doorway. "Don't fuck this up Kogane!" She yells back at him unabashedly as she makes her way down the hallway, keys swinging around her finger rhythmically.

"No promises," he mumbles under his breath, closing - and locking - his door for the night.

Keith turns off all the lights and closes the blinds. He strips down to his boxers and slides under the covers on his bed, grateful for the warmth of his and Pidge's body heat that still lingers in the mattress where they had sat. And as much as Keith would love to slip into blissful unconsciousness for the rest of the night, his phone sitting silently on the bedside table haunts him. What has he gotten himself into?

Sugar _daddies_?

Sugar _babies_?

Sugar _dating_?

Keith is completely clueless as to how any of it works. He reaches out into the darkness and grabs his phone, determined to figure it out. So Keith spends the next hour reading articles and forums and watching YouTube videos. However, the deeper he gets into his research, the more Keith begins to doubt his chances. Assuming he even finds any suitable sugar daddies that are into men, how is he going to live up to their expectations? 

And the rules; god there are so many _rules_.

Always look presentable, always be on your best behavior, be patient and consistent, don't get too attached, etc, etc. Keith usually hate rules and expectations with a passion, but there's something about this particular situation that makes him feel intent on success. He has ambition, he knows what he wants, and although he hasn't the slightest idea of how to make a relationship work, he's sure as hell going to try.

Because he's poor as dirt, obviously.

Pidge is right, Keith supposes. Sugar dating probably isn't as bad as he first made it out to be. Now that he knows what to do - sort of - he has just as good a chance as anyone else. But after looking through fellow sugar baby profiles, Keith decides he needs to up his game just a little. He adds a few more pictures and goes through his 'About Me' section at least a thousand times to edit it and add details. He also checks a few sugar daddy profiles to get an idea of what they're looking for, and adjusts his own profile accordingly.

By the time Keith is satisfied with his account, the alarm clock next to his bed reads 3:07 A.M., and his phone is at 19%. He tosses the device to the side and rubs at his tired eyes, finally allowing himself to fall asleep.

Now all he can do is wait and pray that everything he first thought about sugar dating was wrong.

 

When Keith wakes up the next day and checks his phone, he's met with two texts from Pidge, one Word of the Day email, and a bunch of notifications from the app.

"What the fuck," he breathes in his half asleep state. Keith opens the application and fidgets in anticipation as he waits for it to load.

He has exactly twenty new messages.

He takes a screenshot and sends it to Pidge. Moments later she responds with a winking emoji and 'go get em Red_Lion'. Keith takes a deep breath and opens the first message.

No turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is inspired by [@escortkeith](https://spellsandarrows.tumblr.com/post/172327626246/keithexefile-that-anon-im-with-lance-got-has-me%E2%80%9D>this%20prompt</a>%20by%20<a%20href=).
> 
> I fell in love with this au instantly and decided to create the mess you've just finished reading.
> 
> Comments are appreciated.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on [Tumblr](http://aila-anomaly.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I hate this chapter and I hate how long it took me to finish it. Seriously, three ~~almost four~~ months?! I got some commitment issues lol. Secondly, I am so very very sorry for how boring it is. I promise we’ll get to the sexy times soon enough xD But this fic does, of course, have some sort of a plot so yeah . . . gotta set the scene. Also, thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Reading over all those nice, supportive comments was what pushed me to keep going.

A pair of slender hands emerge from behind him and cover his eyes.

"Allura," Lance groans, already knowing who it is, "I'm trying to work."

"Yes, yes I know. And I'm a horrible person for making you take a break every so often."

The hands retreat, and Lance's eyes resume their focus on his computer screen. Endless rows and columns of numbers flood back into view as a jumbled mess of digits. He blinks a few times and rubs at his eyes to clear the haze, then sucks in a deep breath and exhales in the form of a yawn. He's been so busy all day, Lance had forgotten about the exhaustion looming over him, waiting to take its place upon his shoulders. It's easy to forget, or rather to ignore it when he's completely engrossed in paperwork.

Allura sets a small cup of coffee on his desk then sits down beside it, planting herself atop a thick stack of papers he has yet to file. "I thought you could use a little caffeine." She offers him a dazzling smile and nods towards the steaming beverage. Allura is always a blessing for sore, tired eyes, and her ability to brighten the room with her smile alone is a gift Lance is oh so thankful for.

He smiles back at her and wraps his stiff fingers around the cup. "Thanks." He chugs the borderline hot liquid and empties the cup in a matter of seconds, then realizing that this small, bitter coffee is the first thing he's had to drink since sitting down at his desk this morning.

"So," Allura drawls, "how much longer are you going to sit in here and stare at that screen?" Lance shrugs and chucks the now empty cup into the garbage bin.

"As long as I need to." Honestly, he doesn't need to do any more work. In fact, he's exactly four days ahead of his schedule and could easily take a week off without having to worry about a thing. But Lance continues to push himself, dead set on doing as much as he can and being as productive as possible to avoid dealing with other . . . internal issues.

Allura crosses her arms and looks down at him with a pout commonly used to get what she wants. "But you've been working all day."

"I can work a little longer." He gives her a half smile and turns back to his computer, determined to finish filling out this form so he can submit it and move onto the next one. Allura emits a disapproving hum and lowers herself down to the floor. Out the corner of his eye, Lance sees her fold her hands behind her back and slowly pace towards the front of his office.

"Everyone else has already gone home, you know."

"Good for them."

"I'm heading out as well. I was hoping you would join me."

Lance doesn't dare look up from his screen, knowing that as soon as he does, Allura will surely convince his one-track mind to veer off course. "Sorry, maybe next time. I have stuff to do." Allura stops in front of his desk and throws her hands on her hips in a frustrated manner.

"Oh, come on, Lance, it's Friday night! Come have a drink with me." As tempting as the promise of alcohol sounds, he doesn't feel like socializing, he wants to be alone, it's easier to focus.

"Kinda busy."

"I can't believe you're going to make me go all by myself."

"You'll be fine. You're a big girl."

Allura places her hands on his desk and leans over it formidably, all niceties suddenly nonexistent. "I will drag you out of this building."

"No you won't."

"Is that a challenge?"

Lance finally looks up to meet Allura's narrowed eyes and as he does, the little bit of willpower he had left crumbles. He should have known he wasn't going to last. "Fine." Lance leans back in his chair and drags his hands down his face. God, he's such a sucker. " _Fine._ Just let me finish this and then we can go."

"Wonderful! I knew you'd come around."

Twenty minutes later, they're walking arm in arm out of the building and onto the busy sidewalk. The cool night air is warmed somewhat by the throng of bodies that bustle around and the cars that rush past on the street. But the sudden exposure to the outside is overwhelming, giving him too many sensations to focus on at once. Aside from the city breeze, everything else is blurry, muted and muffled, like Lance is viewing the world through a translucent box. Is it too late to go back and hide in his office?

At one point Allura attempts to start up a conversation; something about a new coffee shop around the corner. Lance tries to keep it going, he really does, but his mind isn't up to the task. He's too tired, too scatterbrained to focus on anything but her warmth and the pace of her body walking alongside his, grounding him to the present moment. She seems to understand somewhat, lightly patting his bicep with her free hand as a comforting gesture. When Allura finally slows to a stop in front of their destination, even his fatigue can't keep the genuine grin off Lance's face.

_Hunk's._

The restaurant's sign hangs above the entrance, the letters of his friend's name glowing with a warm yellow light that softly illuminates the few people exiting and entering the building. Lance suddenly feels a hell of a lot better.

"You could have told me we were coming here! I wouldn't have dragged my feet the whole time!" He hasn't seen Hunk in ages, which is admittedly pretty shitty considering he's his best friend.

"So, you're glad I got you up off your ass and out of that damned office?"

"Well, yeah."

"Let's not waste any more time, then."

As soon as they pass through the doorway Lance is engulfed in a relaxing ambiance of quiet chatter and the clatter of silverware against dishes. He's always loved the atmosphere of this place. He can focus here. He can see and feel more clearly. The translucent box dissipates. Ever since Hunk opened it up, the restaurant has felt like a haven. Good people and great food; it's no wonder this place has been so successful.

Allura sighs beside him, a look of satisfaction washing over her face. Lance can almost see the underlying stress and worry that she carries around melt away. She looks beautiful under the golden hues of the dimly lit room. He, on the other hand, probably looks like crap, but at the moment he's too tired to care.

"Shall we skip dinner and go straight for the booze?" Allura wiggles her perfectly arched eyebrows and Lance snorts.

"Do you really have to ask?"

She lets out a charming little laugh. "Just making sure."

They turn, arms still linked together, and begin to make their way towards the bar on their left.

"Ms. Altea?" A voice from behind them calls out. Lance and Allura turn simultaneously to look at the speaker. A tall, older man in an expensive looking suit approaches them, a large smile on his slightly wrinkled face. Allura dons her I'm-extremely-professional face, and extends her hand to him in a sure and confident way that he's always admired about her.

"That's me. What can I do for you?" The man takes her hand and briefly acknowledges Lance with a nod. Lance doesn't hear the rest of their exchange, his mind drifting elsewhere for a few moments, but the next thing he knows, Allura is slipping away from his grasp.

"I'm sorry, I need to take care of something. I'll meet you by the bar when I'm done." Allura sends him an apologetic look over her shoulder as she and the tall businessman make their way to the other side of the restaurant. And there goes his date, walking away with someone else to probably discuss company-related matters. Kind of ironic how she fussed at him for working too much, and now she's guilty of doing the same. Oh, well. Maybe he'll have enough time to grab a quick drink and go pester Hunk in the kitchen before she's done.

There aren't too many people occupying the bar, which seems a little weird considering it's a Friday night, but then again, it is pretty late. He’s not complaining though; the less people the better.

As Lance slides into an empty stool, he takes note of the two other guys staring lazily at a football game on the t.v., and a familiar face residing on the other side of the counter. Coran notices him instantly and sets down a freshly poured glass in front of one of the other customers before making his way over. Coran smiles at him widely behind his signature mustache.

"Haven't seen you 'round here in a while! How've you been?"

"Busy," is all Lance can manage to respond with. Coran hums empathetically as if to say, ‘aren’t we all?’, and braces himself against the counter.

"Well, what can I get for you, my boy?"

"Surprise me." Alcohol is alcohol, whatever gets the job done is good enough for him.

"Right! Be back in a tick."

Lance peels his jacket off, lays it across his lap, then crosses his arms on the counter as he waits for his mystery drink. And before he can wallow in his loneliness, the weight and warmth of a large hand gently falls on his back. Lance turns his head as Hunk settles into the seat next to him and the corners of his lips involuntarily tug the rest of his mouth into a small smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

Hunk laughs airily. "I could say the same thing." He's wearing his chef's uniform, and smells of spices and smoked something or other. "Haven't heard from you in weeks, then all of a sudden my head waitress is rushing into the kitchen to tell me you're here, making a beeline for the bar of all places."

Lance blushes sheepishly and Hunk's big, brown eyes hold a sort of quiet laughter. "So, what brings you here tonight?"

More like who. Lance looks over at Allura, now laughing with the man from before as they sit at a table across the room.

Hunk follows his gaze. "Ah, I see. She drag you here?"

"Nah, I came . . . somewhat willingly."

"Well I'm glad she convinced you, however she did it. I've missed you, buddy."

Something akin to guilt settles at the bottom of Lance's stomach. "I know, I’ve missed you too. I've just been so busy with work." The excuse rolls off his tongue easily, and thankfully, Hunk doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Instead he hums and absentmindedly rubs one of the buttons on his uniform, probably remembering he still has work to do himself.

"Understandable. What have you been working on?"

"We're starting a bunch of new restoration projects along the west coast. Long story short, there's a lot of paperwork."

"Sounds fun."

"Oh yeah, it's a blast."

Coran pops up in front of them and places a single glass of dark, amber liquid in front of Lance, foam nearly spilling over the sides. "There you are. Nothing too fancy."

"Thanks, Coran." Lance picks up the chilled glass and briefly raises it in a silent cheers.

"Of course. And what about you, Hunk? Is there anything I can get for you?"

"I'll have whatever he's having." Hunk jerks his thumb in Lance's direction and Coran slips away to prepare the drink. "Uh, what are you having?"

"Don't know, don't care." Just like with the coffee he had earlier, Lance tilts his head back to swiftly down the alcohol, hastily seeking the effects of the substance.

"Stressed much?"

Lance chuckles bitterly, swallowing the burning sensation in his throat. "Something like that."

Coran appears once again to give Hunk his drink, then dutifully returns to wiping down already crystal-clear glasses and listening to another man’s tale of woe. Hunk’s fingers begin to fidget with the napkin pinned under his glass and all at once a strained silence hangs between them, broken only by the roar of a crowd on the television. Hunk has never been one to keep his thoughts to himself, it’s what makes him such a great conversationalist, and right now, Lance knows he’s practically itching to say something most likely in relation to his perpetual concern for Lance’s wellbeing.

"I hate seeing you like this."

And there it is. Lance knew it was going to come up sooner rather than later, but still finds himself thoroughly bummed he couldn’t prolong the inevitable just a little bit longer. No matter how believable or justifiable his lies and excuses are, Hunk always manages to be the one to see through them. Hunk knows him too well to believe his half-assed attempts to convince everyone he's fine, and that he's not actually falling apart on the inside. It’s probably the reason Lance has been subtly avoiding him for so long, unwilling to face the truth head on and deal with it like a normal person. Lance loves Hunk, they've been together through thick and thin, but he doesn't want his help. He can solve his own problems.

"Then don't look."

"You know what you need? A distraction. Something to ease your nerves." But of course Hunk's going to try and solve them anyways.

"No amount of alcohol will soothe my nerves."

"No, no alcohol." He grabs Lance's glass before he can finish the rest of it and sets it to the side. "I meant more like someone."

Lance pauses for a moment to register what he just implied. "Dating?"

Hunk raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in affirmation.

Seriously? Out of all the self-help books he could have recommended, Hunk is suggesting he enter the dating scene? That is so _not_ where he saw this conversation going.

"Hate to break it to you big guy, but I'm not emotionally stable enough for that right now." He can barely keep himself together, much less have the mental capacity to care for someone else. And it's not like there aren't other ways to take the edge off . . .

Besides, if the first thing they’re going to talk about after being apart for so long is his mental health, he’d rather not bring romance into the discussion. Why rub salt into the wound when it already hurts like a bitch?

“I’m just saying, you haven’t been yourself lately, and maybe getting out there and meeting someone will help you balance out that instability.” Lance shakes his head and purses his lips. Hunk pushes on. “No, seriously. When’s the last time you took a break from work and went out with someone for fun? I mean, you don’t hang out with me anymore. And what happened to the ridiculously confident, flirtatious Lance that would have jumped on the opportunity to get either of their numbers? Hmm?” He gestures to the two guys sitting at the far end of the bar.

The one closest to Lance catches his eye and gives him a wink that Lance is surprisingly less than thrilled to be on the receiving end of. He turns back to Hunk and rests his chin in his hand. “Maybe he realized it was pointless.”

Hunk rubs his forehead and leans forward over the counter. “I’m just worried about you man. All you do is work. You don’t talk to me, and Allura told me you barely talk to her anymore.”

Lance doesn’t reply, he can’t. What is he supposed to say? Aside from the fact that there isn’t one valid reason he feels this way, Lance knows his friends already have their own lives and their own problems to worry about. He refuses to be a burden.

“Look, I get it. The long nights and early mornings . . . Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind trying to run this place.” His eyes make a quick sweep around the dining area, then he sighs. “But I have Shay to keep my head screwed on right.”

Oh, so _that's_ where he's going with this. He thinks finding that special someone will somehow turn his whole world right-side up and he’ll live happily ever after. Sure.

“So, what your saying is, I need a Shay of my own?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Gee, if only meeting someone that extraordinary wasn’t so damn difficult and practically unrealistic. But fuck, if his hopelessly romantic heart doesn’t ache at the thought. A real partner and not some two-week long fling that leaves him feeling even emptier than before. Just someone who makes him feel whole. And loved.

Of all the things Lance could be jealous of Hunk for, his success in finding his literal soulmate always comes out on top.

“Oh, the nerve of some people!”

Lance nearly falls out of his seat when Allura sits down in the chair next to him with a huff, crowding into his space and reaching hastily for his less than half full glass. He breathes a tiny breath of relief, grateful for the chance to take the focus off of his love life (or lack thereof) and change the topic of conversation. Hunk leans over the counter to look at Allura as she forcefully swallows the last of Lance’s drink.

“What displeases the princess this time?”

“That mediocre excuse for a businessman. Ugh. Utterly ridiculous. No sense of professionalism, whatsoever.”

Lance leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, still attempting to shake off the wave of emotions that came with the mention of his . . . emotional predicament. “What happened? You two looked like you were getting along.”

“Yes, everything was fine at first. Turns out he actually works in our marketing department and wanted to discuss putting together a fundraiser of sorts for the new projects.”

“And then?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically and scoffs. “Also turns out he’s a total sleazeball. He started acting extremely inappropriate and suggested that if I 'keep him company', he would give me anything I asked for. Can you believe that?" Allura tucks a loose curl back into the messy bun of hair atop her head, then hunches over the counter. "Screw that. I’ll be my own sugar daddy.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Lance decides not to bother offering to kick the guy’s ass, knowing full well Allura already took care of it, if the man’s red face and hurried walk towards the door is anything to go by.

“Oh! That’s it!" Hunk slams his hand on the table, startling everyone within earshot. "You can be a sugar daddy, Lance!”

“Wha – I – no! Did you not just hear what went down with the mediocre businessman?” He gestures fervently in the direction of the perpetrator. How could Hunk suggest such a thing?

“Yeah, but he obviously had no class. You could make it work.”

“Really?” Lance deadpans and cocks an unconvinced eyebrow at his friend.

“Yeah, totally.”

“I agree,” Allura chimes in. “Sugar dating seems like something you’d enjoy.”

“Wait, why are you in on this? You just said that guy was – and I quote – ‘a total sleazeball’.”

She shrugs then motions for Hunk to pass her his untouched drink. As he hands it over, she continues. “There were a thousand and one different ways he could have handled that.”

"Just think about it,” Hunk tries again before Lance can say anything else. “You're young, wealthy, handsome, generous, an all-around good guy. Perfect for this kind of thing. Plus, a little companionship and maybe some sex would do you some good." Hunk smirks at him smugly and Lance can feel his face grow hot.

“Don’t you have a kitchen to run,” he snaps. But there is some truth in Hunk’s words. He hasn’t gotten laid in (what feels like) ages. After a one-night stand turned terribly awkward, Lance had decided to steer clear of random hook ups for a while.

Now he’s depressed _and_ sexually frustrated.

“I don’t know, you guys.” Lance is no expert, but he knows what sugar dating is. On several different occasions he’s heard his coworkers discussing their own sugar relationships, and while he wasn’t completely engrossed in the conversations, he’d be lying if he said the subject didn’t capture his interest. However, he hadn’t been interested enough to consider looking into it. Until now. Money is no issue, thanks to his job, and he does live a lifestyle integrated with what he considers to be the finer things in life, so it wouldn’t be totally weird to participate in something as casually intimate as sugar dating. That’s what people in the world of business normally do, right?

Then again, hopeless romantic plus casual dating equals no bueno.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Allura spreads her unoccupied hand, awaiting his answer.

“Uh, have you met me? I’ll get too attached and end up completely and utterly heartbroken.”

“Maybe. But maybe not.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ll have some actual fun,” Hunk offers. “You don’t have to get emotionally invested, just spice things up a bit until you get yourself together. And, might I add, you're always complaining about how boring and lonely your out of state business trips are. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone go with you and keep you company?"

Lance squints at the tone Hunk used on the last three words, but he does have to admit he makes a very good point. Loneliness in any of its forms seems to be the recurring theme of his problems. And there’s really no point in arguing with these two. He’ll be pestered, prodded and pressured into it one way or another; best to just give in while he still has his dignity.

“Yeah . . . okay, I’ll do it.”

Hunk and Allura fist bump the air in unison, congratulating themselves on their apparent victory. Allura then grabs his hands in excitement, the effects of the alcohol evident in her cheery expression and wide eyes. "This is so exciting! You'll have to keep me updated all the time."

“Of course.” He gently pulls his hands away, still not completely convinced he’s going to follow through. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Hunk stands up and smooths out his uniform, looking way too satisfied with himself. “We close up in an hour. If you guys don’t mind the wait, we could head over to my place when I’m done here. Shay’s making dinner tonight.”

Allura perks up at the promise of food. "That sounds delightful. I could use a homecooked meal."

"Actually, I'm just gonna head home.” Lance fishes his wallet out of his pocket to pay for his drink and slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the bar, not bothering to ask how much the drink actually costs. Spending some quality time with his friends sounds great, but he’s not so sure he’d be able to handle their smiling faces and upbeat attitudes for the next few hours. Lance is too self-aware of his own disheartening mood. He’s sure he’d just bring everyone else down or they’d waste their time trying to lift him up. “I, uh, need to catch up on sleep."

Allura shares a not so subtle look with Hunk before leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Get some rest then, you need it."

Lance rolls his eyes at her motherly affection. "Ok, mom."

“Yeah man, we can catch up later.” Hunk pulls him into a bear hug and claps him on the back. “Take care of yourself.” Being this close to him, Lance gets a big whiff of whatever Hunk had been cooking up before coming out to sit with him and almost regrets not taking him up on his offer of a free meal.

“Don’t forget to text me the details,” Allura calls after him as he begins to walk away.

With one final wave and a half smile for his friends, Lance turns towards the exit.

And when he steps out of the restaurant, the walls of the box go right back up.

He lets his feet guide him back home, through the sidewalk traffic and the twists and turns of the streets, into his apartment building, up to his apartment and onto his couch. He lets his brain switch to autopilot, bringing himself to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and ducking beneath the warm water of the shower to scrub at his body and hair in halfhearted routine.

When did it turn into this?  When did his life turn into nothing more than going through the motions?

He has amazing friends and a supportive family, he loves his job and has more money than most people his age could ever dream of earning. So what's the problem? What's missing?

“What are you doing,” he scolds his blurry reflection as soon as he steps out of the shower and faces the mirror. “Pull yourself together, damnit.”

Tugging on boxers and a pair of sweatpants, Lance runs over the conversation he had with Hunk and Allura. Something has to change, he needs to do something different and exciting. He just hadn’t considered dating to be a viable solution to his depressing slump. Then again, his problem solving as of late involves copious amounts of booze and a long chain of bad decisions. Not that this idea is any better, but why shouldn’t he loosen up a bit? ‘Spice things up’, as Hunk so elegantly put it.

He could have some fun and spoil someone rotten. Give them a taste of the lush life and fulfill his own desire to feel needed and wanted. Yeah, it might end badly but so what? He’s been through worse. Maybe this is what he needs to shove him back on his feet and get his shit together.

Inhibitions? Lance doesn’t know them.

After a quick Google search for a sugar dating app, he settles on a popular site and promptly downloads it to his phone to begin the process of creating an account. It doesn't take long, maybe twenty minutes tops to finish making everything perfect. He's never been too picky when it comes to picking partners, and now's no different. All he needs is a pretty face, a tolerable personality, and a willingness to let go and have some fun.

Unfortunately, it takes him all of five minutes to realize most of the women on this site are fake as fuck. Strained, staged pictures and overenthusiastic bios that make him want to gag. The men are no better. Cringey photos that remind him of his days as a fifteen-year-old fuckboy. Five more minutes and Lance is completely prepared to chuck this idea out the window, until he stumbles upon one profile that isn’t quite like the others.

It’s not as stiff, and is surprisingly honest and outgoing with a hint of underlying sass that makes Lance smirk.

“Keith.” He reads from the screen, letting the name fall from his mouth, testing out the way it sounds and liking it. He could get used to saying that.

And if his bio wasn’t enough to capture Lance’s undivided attention, taking a good look at his profile picture completely seals the deal. Dark, inky hair that brushes across his forehead and messily falls to his shoulders, curling ever so slightly as it does. Pale skin that reflects the light of the sun in the photo and sharp features that cast shadows in all the right places. He’s not looking at the camera, but Lance imagines his eyes are just as captivating.

Hot damn, Red_Lion. Where have you been hiding?

Infatuation with a hint of lust is what Lance would use to describe the feeling bubbling up in his chest as he continues to browse through the rest of Keith’s pictures. Candid smiles and mid-laughter poses that are doing wonders to his mood.

However, Lance pauses for a moment when he finds that one of the pictures isn’t of him, but of a painting. Violet, purples and hints of black, swirling around and through each other on the canvas to create a chaotic harmony of colors. Did he make this?

Hot, talented and too perfect to pass up. Before his brain fully catches up with what his fingers have planned, they’ve already typed up and sent the guy a message.

_What's the name of your painting?_

A simple icebreaker, nothing too personal, Lance thinks.

Throwing his phone to the side and leaning back against the pillows on his bed, Lance marvels at how effortlessly his attitude has turned around. Is it really that easy?

Probably not, his tiny voice of reason speaks up. Well, he’ll worry about crossing those bridges when he gets to them.

For now, all he can do is run with what he has, hang on for the ride, and hope that focusing on someone else’s happiness will help him recover his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll get better at posting regular updates. Eventually. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on [Tumblr](http://aila-anomaly.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time, and I'm sorry. I guess I'm just incapable of consistency. BUT hopefully this almost 10k word chapter will make it up to you all.

It's only been two days.

Two very long days of sifting through message after message, ignoring most and replying to others with flirtatious maybes and promises of consideration.

Every time he opens the app, Keith’s insides twist a little more, forming a knot of anxiousness he isn’t quite sure how to get rid of. Yes, he’s agreed to do this and is following through (because what other choice does he have, really, he's gotten this far), but Keith is all too aware of the reluctance ebbing away at his poorly put together plan. He barely has a grasp on how all this works. But tons of potential men have practically lined themselves up trying to make an arrangement with him, to a point where all he has to do is say yes and he’ll be set, and yet he’s turned them all away despite the approaching deadlines of payments due.

What is he looking for? Waiting for? What does he expect?

Keith couldn't tell you.

He’d opened his inbox that morning unfazed by the waterfall of perverted chats and business-like deals. Keith supposes he should be flattered by all the attention, probably would be if the messages weren’t nasty and tactless or weirdly professional. He knows he should settle for one of the more professional ones and give him a chance. Sooner or later he’s going to have to grow a pair, pick someone and accept being financially dependent on them until he can hold his own, while trying not to die of embarrassment in the process. Who knows what he’ll have to do or what will be expected of him to hold up his end of the deal to ensure things work out.

So far it hasn’t been too promising.

Keith’s pursuers have proven he’s going to have to be what he’s not. They aren’t looking for some punk kid with an attitude, temper and distaste for authority, they want someone who’s respectful and compliant.

Keith’s head throbs with a sense of dread. He doesn’t want to lose himself just because he’s short on money.

But, money is money, right?

Keith returns to his task of weeding out the worst of the messages from his inbox. By now he doesn’t even bother opening them all before deleting them, relying on the preview of a message to determine whether or not it’s worth his time.

_Damn baby. I’m so hard right now, let’s . . ._

Delete.

_I see you’re close by. I can offer . . ._

Save for later.

_Your lips would look beautiful wrapped around my . . ._

Delete.

_What's the name of your painting?_

Save for - wait. What?

_What’s the name of your painting?_

What the fuck?

Keith rereads the words over and over, thumb hovering above the message. He had only half expected someone to take an interest in the picture he'd posted of a recently finished piece. It had been a last-minute addition to his profile, something to maybe start up a conversation over. Clearly it worked.

Clinging to a sliver of newfound hope for himself and praying the guy’s not old enough to be his dad, Keith opens the chat, eyes landing on his username.

 **Lancey_Lance**?

Keith raises an unamused, curious eyebrow. That’s definitely different.

He opens Lance’s (what else could his name be) profile and takes a good, long look at his profile picture, relieved to find himself staring at – for the first time since joining this godforsaken site - a very attractive and very young specimen of man.

Fuckin’ finally.

Bronze, flawless skin and angular features. Brown hair and eyes so dark blue they were probably photoshopped. He’s smiling, winking at the camera like he’s just told a joke. And that grin, playful and mischievous, knocks every other guy Keith had been considering settling with out of line.

Relief continues to wash over him in waves, smoothing out the knot in his stomach as he skims over Lance’s bio, which is simple and straight to the point. No complicated deals, no serious commitment or expectations, just ‘someone to hang out and have fun with’.

Keith can do that. He can definitely do that.

This guy is obviously a steal and interested in him out of all the people on this damn site. The universe must not hate his sorry gay ass after all.

Now all he has to do is flirt like his financial health depends on it. Which it does. He literally can’t afford to be awkward and fuck this up now that he finally has the attention of someone decent.

A notification pops up on Keith’s screen, reminding him to get ready for his shift.

He sighs.

As much as he’d like to, excitement bubbling up in his chest and all that, he can’t do this right now, it’ll have to wait till after work. He’ll think it over some more and formulate a plan of attack when he has the time and mindset to do so.

For now, Keith turns his phone off, drags himself out of bed and dons his work clothes.

 

Working in a restaurant hadn’t been his first choice. Keith had actually gotten the job by chance, shortly after moving into his apartment.

Hungry and on a very low budget, Keith settled on the first place offering a cheap meal. He had been wearing his usual all-black attire when another customer had mistaken him for staff and asked him to check on her order.

One thing led to another and then the owner was explaining his shortage of staff and offering him a job as a waiter. All too eager to earn some money, he’d accepted, and began working a week later.

Nearly five months later, he’s still getting up at five thirty in the morning every Wednesday through Sunday, still walking all the way there to spend eight hours wearing himself down to nothing, and still earning a minimum wage salary.

Keith is fully aware of just how anti-social he is in general, and is reminded every day as he faces the endless flow of hungry, demanding people. But he’s nothing if he isn’t grateful for the work, so Keith has perfected a routine to get him through the day.

Smile, recite the stereotypical “What can I do for you?”, serve the food, refill the drinks, wipe up the mess, wash, rinse, repeat. It’s draining, but it works, and two weeks later he’s cashing in his paycheck.

When the sweet relief of three o’clock finally rolls around, Keith doesn’t hesitate to clock out, grab his bag and bolt for the door, only stopping to give Nyma a quick ‘Hey’ before she takes his place to start her own shift.

She’s not a friend or anything, not like Pidge, but she’s nice to him and always smiles when they cross paths. Keith figures it’s only right that he shows her the same courtesy. And if he’s being honest, it’s kind of refreshing to smile genuinely and be smiled at.

He’ll never say that to her though.

 

Keith doesn’t bother changing out of his work clothes when he gets back home, opting to just kick his shoes off and sit down on one of the two stools lining his kitchen counter, thankful to finally be off his feet.

Out of habit Keith pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, then reminded of what he was doing earlier before rushing off to work.

Lance. The hot, close to his age, just looking for a good time, potential sugar daddy.

Right. How could he forget about that?

Keith sighs, propping his elbow on the counter and resting his head against his fist as he stares at his phone, a dozen pictures of Lance staring back. Overall, he seems like a pretty laid-back guy, the pictures on his profile depicting him at various parties, or selfies featuring more of that million-dollar smile.

Keith returns to the message.

_What’s the name of your painting?_

He should just go for it. Enough waiting around and hoping things will work themselves out. He has to take this chance before Lance slips away and he's left with other not-so-appealing options.

_What’s the name of your painting?_

Don’t overthink it. It’s a simple question with a simple answer.

 **Red_Lion** : _It doesn’t have one._

Keith sets his phone, screen down, on the counter and runs his free hands through his hair, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding onto. His answer is simple, honest and leaves just enough room for Lance to prove whether or not he's really interested in him. His ice breaker seems nice enough, but if he turns out to be cocky, conceited, and focused on a certain something, Keith will know what he's really dealing with. And honestly, he would deal with it, because he’d rather have a young, hot jerk than a weird, fifty-something year old jerk.

But, there he goes again, expecting the worst. What if Lance is actually a nice guy and this whole sugar dating experience turns out to be pleasant? Then he will have stressed himself out over nothing.

Deciding to leave his phone where it is, knowing he would otherwise worry himself over when Lance might message him back, Keith circles around to the other side of the counter and heads for the cupboards in the kitchen. He pulls out a package of noodles and a single granola bar out of the box he’d found yesterday hiding on top of the fridge. He puts on a small pot of water for the noodles, not bothering to wait for the water to boil before he dumps the noodles and seasoning into the pot. Keith then unwraps his bar and takes a bite, studying the nutritional facts on the wrapper to keep himself busy while he waits for his dinner.

He misses having the means to make an actual meal for himself, or better yet, having someone else cook for him.

Keith takes another bite, suddenly remorseful.

He gave up that luxury when he left.

Oh well. If everything works out he won’t have to eat noodles cooked in chemical water for much longer.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes against the counter, startling him and causing him to choke on a chunk of granola. Sedating his cough with a sip of water from the sink, Keith moves to pick up his phone, hoping it’s not just a random text from Pidge. He unlocks his screen and nope, that’s not Pidge.

Lance messaged him back.

 **Lancey_Lance** : _Alright then. What inspired you to make it?_

So he is genuinely interested. This should be easy then.

 **Red_Lion** : _I’d had a bad day and needed to blow off some steam._

 **Lancey_Lance** : _Do you usually paint to destress?_

 **Red_Lion** : _Yeah. What do you do?_

A minute goes by before Lance answers, and Keith worries that he’s crossed a line already. Is he not supposed to ask questions like that? Did it put Lance off?

 **Lancey_Lance** : _Drink until I forget what I was so stressed about._

Oh. Ouch.

Keith ventures a little deeper.

 **Red_Lion** : _Do you drink alone?_

 **Lancey_Lance** : _Usually._

He chews his lip as he types out his next question.

 **Red_Lion** : _Would you like a drinking buddy?_

 **Lancey_Lance** : _Are you? Asking me out?! But I’m supposed to ask you :’(_

Keith smiles at that.

 **Red_Lion** : _Well are you going to ask me then?_

 **Lancey_Lance** : _… Maybe._

It’s nothing definitive, but that ‘maybe’ leaves Keith hopeful as they continue to message each other back and forth over the course of the next week. Keith supposes he’s lucky to even be talking to Lance, as he probably has tons of other people vying for his attention.

But Keith tries, engaging in and sometimes even initiating small conversations about stupid things like how their day went or what the weather was like (who knew so much could be said about clouds?).

The weird thing about it all, though, is how easy it is to talk to him. It’s like this guy is a real person and not some dipshit with money who only wants to get into his pants. So by the time Lance makes a move, Keith finds he feels comfortable and confident enough to accept the invitation.

 **Lancey_Lance** : _Let me take you out to lunch._

Lunch ends up being at a hipster café he’s never heard of at three o’clock in the afternoon, but Keith doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s fucking thrilled that Lance wants to meet with him, regardless of where they do it. Meeting up means getting one step closer to possibly (hopefully) getting what he needs to combat life’s bullshit. AKA money.

Keith gets a whopping four hours of sleep that night and spends the remaining dark hours of the morning making a mental wish list of all things he’s going to buy if his date with Lance goes well and he happens to come into a sum of money afterwards.

By the time the sun comes up, his list consists of a fridge full of various foods, clean, bottled water, and a new pillow. 

After his alarm decides to go off, Keith rolls out of bed and into the shower to start his day. He washes his hair, scrubs his skin clean, and after he smells decent enough, dresses himself in what he considers to be the nicest clothes he owns. A maroon v-neck shirt that fits him quite nicely, and the one pair of black pants that doesn’t have any holes, frayed edges or paint stains. It’s not much, but he hasn’t put this much effort into his appearance in forever. And by the time he’s done scrutinizing himself in the mirror, Keith still has hours before his date with Lance.

He kills time by tidying up his apartment, doodling in the last pages of his sketchbook to fight off artist’s block, updating Pidge on what’s happening and doing anything else that keeps his spirits up and any self-doubt shoved down into the depths of his mind where they can’t possibly come back up to ruin his day. The absolute last thing he needs to do right now is stress over how badly he needs this to work.

Lance could be his ticket out of this depressing hellhole.

 

At exactly three o’clock, Keith puts on his brave face and pushes open the door of the café, his eyes scanning over the other customers.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when only a few seconds later a hand falls on his shoulder and the person attached to it calls out his name. He spins around and takes a step back to see none other than Lance, with his hands up in surrender and an amused smile on his face.

“Whoa, relax! It’s me, Lance.”

“Oh, hi,” Keith breathes out and puts on a smile of his own, suddenly feeling self-conscious because wow. Lance’s sudden presence is a bit overwhelming, which is totally an understatement.

The pictures he put on his profile really don’t do him any justice, and Keith knows it sounds cliché, but it’s so true. He looks like a fucking model, dressed in a denim jacket over a plain white t-shirt, and simple black jeans. Everything about him just looks effortless and Keith can’t decide if he should be thankful or annoyed, because Lance is also taller than he’d expected. Only by a few inches, but still. He hates being shorter than people and Lance certainly isn’t an exception, regardless of how attractive he is and how much money he has.

Keith’s not too fond of having to look up at him, especially when he lowers his hands and moves closer to avoid getting in the way of the other people bustling around the room. Keith has to force himself not to step back for more than one reason.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, that’s okay.” The words rush out of his mouth and Keith can only hope he doesn’t sound as anxious as he feels. He does his best to subtly wipe away the sweat starting to accumulate on his palms and slow the rising pace of his heart. His throat feels dry and too tight.

Not now, social anxiety. Go away, come again never.

And of course Lance is the epitome of cool, calm and collected, smiling down at him and offering him his non-sweaty hand. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Keith swallows the uneasiness threatening to lurch up from his stomach and stands his ground, looking Lance right in the eyes (holy fuck they are that blue) and gripping his offered hand. “Likewise.”

Anyone taking the time to notice them might have thought they were having a staring contest with the way they were looking at each other. Just standing there in the middle of everything, holding hands and sizing each other up with unwavering eye contact. Lance is the one to finally loosen his hold and pull away.

“Let’s just skip the small talk and go sit down,” he offers with a knowing smile, and leads the way past the hordes of edgy teenagers clustered around the front, to a tiny table for two in a vacant corner of the shop. They take their seats across from each other and, much to Keith’s dismay, a brief awkward silence ensues. But Lance sighs and rests his forearms on the table, lacing his fingers together, and leaning forward.

“Look, I’m gonna be honest with you. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Keith stiffens, eyes widening. “What?”

“And judging by how uncomfortable you look right now, you’ve probably never done this before either.”

This? Sugar dating? Keith leans forward as well, clearing his throat and lowering his voice.

“You mean you’ve never . . .?”

“Nope.” Lance pops the ‘p’ and grins at him.

Keith breathes in deep then lets it go as he sinks back into his chair. “Oh.” So they’re both noobs, which means he can relax again, sort of.

“Are you disappointed?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in Lance’s expression as he asks the question, but Keith is just surprised their date is starting off like this.

“What? No! No, not at all. I’m just kind of, relieved?”

Lance nods like he understands where Keith is coming from. Maybe he’d thought Keith had sugar dated before.

“I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. We can talk for a bit, get to know each other some more and if you decide you’re not ready or you don’t want to or whatever, that’s fine. I’m not going to pressure you into anything.”

Keith could cry. Happy tears, of course, because Lance has just completely demolished about ninety percent of whatever he’d been worrying about in a matter of seconds. Is this guy even real?

“Thank you,” is all he can say, and it’s all he needs to say for Lance to smile at him again.

“Oh-kay then. Now that that’s out the way, let’s get something to drink while we talk. My treat.” Lance turns around in his seat to look behind the counter at the dusty chalkboard on the wall covered in colorful writing that lists the menu and today’s specials. It doesn’t take him long to decide on an iced coffee and turn back around to ask Keith what he’d chosen. But Keith had been too busy staring at the back of Lance’s head and wondering how the hell he'd gotten so lucky. He’s never lucky. _Ever_.

After some gentle prodding from Lance, Keith takes a quick look at the menu and settles on an old favorite he hasn’t had in a long while. Hot chai tea.

While Lance gets up to order their drinks, Keith pulls his phone out to send a quick text to Pidge, who’d been blowing his phone up all morning being the nosy little gremlin that she is, asking him if he’s still alive, or if he’d been kidnapped yet. He gives her a brief summary and promises to call her when he gets home. He shoves his phone back in his pocket, not wanting to wait for her reply, and instead let’s his gaze drift to where Lance is standing by the counter, pointing to the chalkboard and talking to the cashier.

Keith sighs.

He really is handsome. In a distinguished but laidback kind of way. The guy just oozes good vibes and makes everything around him look ten times more attractive and Keith just has to wonder what a guy like him was doing on a site like that, and who the hell decided he should end up with him of all people. Lance could have anyone he wanted! But no, he chose Keith.

Keith, who despite knowing Lance is kind, considerate and doesn’t expect much, is almost certain he’s going to disappoint him eventually. It’s inevitable. That’s just what Keith does.

Resisting the urge to facepalm, because he’s in a public place and trying not to look like an idiot on his first date, Keith takes the opportunity to distract himself by focusing on the thin colorful bracelets adorning Lance’s wrists, just barely visible under the sleeves of his jean jacket. There are all sorts of neon and rainbow colors twisted, laced and braided into each other and they look so out of place in Lance’s otherwise modelesque ensemble, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. In the short week he’s talked with Lance, and especially after just now, Keith has learned to expect the unexpected and leave it at that.

After paying for their beverages and telling the cashier to have a nice day, Lance turns around, drinks in hand and heads back to their table. He slides into his seat and hands Keith his drink, who thanks him and takes it gingerly with both hands, staring down at the steam curling off the liquid.

It’s warm against his palms and smells amazing. A perfect balance of spicy and sweet that smooths out the frayed edges of his nerves. He takes a careful sip, savoring the rich, flavorful taste on his tongue before swallowing. It’s too hot but Keith doesn’t care. He hasn’t had something like this in forever. It makes him feel a little nostalgic and he tries to stifle the smile creeping onto his face but fails, miserably. Keith chances a glance up at Lance who’s looking back at him with a goddammed smirk on his face. He does his best to suppress the heat creeping up his neck while Lance casually sucks on his straw.

“Thank you again. For the drink,” he manages.

“My pleasure,” Lance replies.

And then they just, talk.

It’s awkward at first, or at least Keith thinks it is because he sure does feel awkward and anxious as he tries to hold up his end of the conversation without looking like a fool. But Lance is kind and patient, taking it slow.

When Keith’s fight or flight mode finally shuts down and he’s able to relax into Lance’s presence, Lance takes his change in demeanor as an opening to make the topics of conversation a little more personal. He explains how stressed he’s been lately and how he needs something to help him relax, take his mind off things, and have some fun. All the while Keith listens intently, nodding occasionally or verbalizing agreement. He knows Lance probably has a lot more going on than what he’s sharing, but he also knows it isn’t any of his business and he’d rather not get sucked into any drama.

Listening to Lance talk and sipping on his tea has Keith feeling content. The quiet ambiance of the café makes everything feel cozy and the caffeine helps his lingering fatigue, making everything that much more bearable.

Sometime later, the matter of occupation arises, and Lance is explaining how he works for a large company focused on environmental restoration. Altean Enterprise, he calls it. Lance speaks so animated and proudly about his job and the work he does, Keith doesn’t even have to pretend to be interested.

“And you?” Lance swirls the remaining ice around in his cup, eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity as he leans back in his chair and takes a sip.

“Oh, I’m a freelance artist.” Keith cringes a little after saying it out loud and wills his cheeks not to burn with self-consciousness. He knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed, but after listening to Lance go on about his career, all the places he’s traveled, everything he’s accomplished and how freaking awesome his job sounds in general, Keith can’t help but feel a little, well, lame. Not to mention he’s had more success as a waiter in a stank ass restaurant than as an actual artist.

Seeing Lance cock a confused eyebrow at his change in expression, Keith explains. “I mean, I love what I do but it’s not a very . . . lucrative career.” He punctuates his sentence with as soft a smile as he can manage without looking strained or revealing how frustrated he feels deep down.

Lance sets his drink down and nods slowly. “So this is where I come in.”

Keith fidgets with his cardboard cupholder. “Um. Yes?”

Lance chuckles, a muffled sound from somewhere in his chest, and leans across the table, closing the distance between them and consequently making the rest of the world fade away until there’s nothing but the two of them and an impending question in between.

“Well, what do you say, Keith?”

This is it. Lance is going to ask him.

“Be my sugar baby?”

Keith smiles back, doing his best to mimic Lance’s air of confidence. “As if you had to ask.” And Keith swears he can see mischief swirling around in those deep blue eyes.

But before he can praise the good gods above and bask in his success, someone walks up to their table.

“Um, excuse me.”

Keith is the first to look away. An employee, a younger girl with a nametag reading ‘Sam’ stands before their table, wringing her hands and glancing around at what Keith realizes are all the other empty tables in the café.

“Can I help you with anything else before we close up shop?”

He looks past her, at another employee clearly ready to be relieved of work, then at the wall clock near the entrance reading seven minutes past five. Five o’clock? They’ve been talking for _two hours_?!

“No, we were just leaving.” Lance answers her question with a poise Keith currently lacks. He stands, gives Sam a reassuring smile, then motions for Keith to follow him with a nod towards the exit.

After discarding their empty cups, they leave the building and begin walking down the sidewalk in silence with no clear plan as to where they’re going. Or at least, Keith has no idea where they’re going or what they’re doing. He looks to Lance who walks beside him seeming as confident as ever, hands casually shoved in his jean pockets and a faint smile playing at his lips. But Lance doesn’t acknowledge him as they walk to nowhere in particular, which puts him on edge.

They’re going to talk about what just happened, right? Now that they’ve established that they’re actually doing this, they should lay down some rules or go over the details or something. Isn’t that how this works? Keith doesn’t want to rush anything but, he’s got bills to pay. Once again, Lance saves him from having to say anything.

“You want a ride home?”

They’ll talk about it later, then.

Keith’s first instinct tells him to say no, he’s fine, he can walk. The reasonable part of his brain however, takes note of the sudden increase in sidewalk traffic from all the people unloading from their respective workplaces, and considers the fact that he’s never been to this part of the city before.

Plus, based on his diligent research, wanting to feel useful is a part of the whole sugar daddy dynamic. And Lance is offering, even though he doesn’t have to, so, let him be useful.

Keith settles on a simple, “Sure, that would be great,” and watches as Lance’s face lights up.

“Cool. I parked my car just over there.”

Keith follows Lance as he crosses the street and heads to the nearest parking lot, weaving through the rows of cars until they stop in front of a navy-blue Tesla. Keith quietly appreciates the car while Lance moves ahead, pulling keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocking the car with the press of a button. He moves to open the door for Keith, because apparently he’s a gentleman too, so Keith walks up to get in.

But Lance hesitates, his hand resting on the door handle, the other stuffing his keys back into his pocket despite needing them to start the car. Keith watches as Lance chews at his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed and eyes cast down.

“Are you okay?” He steps closer, confused by Lance’s sudden change in demeanor. Maybe he changed his mind? “Look, I can walk if it’s too much trouble. You don’t have to give me a ride.”

Lance glances at him out the corner of his eye, then turns his whole body to face him, expression softening as he shakes his head.

Okay, then what’s the problem? He’s not having second thoughts about asking Keith to be his sugar baby, is he?

Keith stays absolutely still, trying his best to quell the reemerging nervousness in his stomach as Lance studies his face. He’s biting his lip again and looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. He’s changing his mind, isn’t he? Keith watches Lance’s eyes as they move from his own, trailing down until they stop at his mouth, then flitting back up to his eyes, then down again and back up once more.

And all of a sudden Keith has to resist the urge to laugh at his own nervousness because he _knows_ that look. He’s seen it, received it, even given it before.

Lance wants to kiss him. Simple as that.

There’s no harm in kissing. They were going to do it eventually, may as well start now that they’re ‘dating’.

He takes a deep breath, feeling relieved that the tension only stemmed from Lance’s apparent nervousness to kiss him, and surprised that Lance would even be nervous about that at all. Whatever, he’s just happy Lance hasn’t chickened out.

Keith readies himself and wets his lips, giving Lance a small nod upon seeing the questioning look in his eyes and shoving down whatever it is that stirs up his stomach when Lance’s features portray excitement. He’s kissed tons of people before, this is no different, Lance is no different.

He breathes in deep and like opposite ends of a magnet they lean towards one another, slowly at first, then snapping together all at once, lips colliding a little too hard for Keith’s liking. He continues to lean into it anyways and lets his eyes fall shut to avoid any too close eye contact because he’s determined to make it work and he’s definitely not a quitter.

It’s pretty awkward at first, the way first kisses tend to be, as they adjust to that damn height difference and try to find the right angle and pace.

Lance’s lips are warm against his own, and soft to the point of Keith wondering if his own lips are too abrasive. But it feels good. Especially when their movements even out and everything clicks into place and the skin on skin contact that wasn’t there before is suddenly everywhere.

He lets his body take over, taking another step closer, reaching up to fist his hands in the fabric below the collar of Lance’s jacket and allowing himself to relax (as best he can) into the feeling of Lance on his body, his hands on Keith’s waist, thumbs brushing against his ribs through his shirt. The gesture is small but makes his spine tingle nonetheless. Keith kisses Lance back intently and takes a moment to congratulate himself.

He, Keith Kogane, has managed to get himself a smokin’ hot sugar daddy. Pidge would be proud.

Feeling satisfied with himself, he inhales the scent of Lance’s cologne and falls deeper into the blossoming feel-good haze. Is masculinity a scent? Because that’s what he smells like. Strong, warm and alluring, but also like fresh cotton and fabric softener. Of course he smells good. Lance has exceeded all his expectations so far, what’s a few extra perks?

Lance grabs his hips with strong hands and switches their positions, guiding them backwards until Keith’s back is pressed against the sun-warmed window of the car and pinning him there. He pushes and pulls at Keith’s lips in an unhurried rhythm that leaves Keith feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Lance is getting bolder, crossing the unclear line between what’s acceptable and what might not be. But Keith doesn’t mind, at least, not yet. Not when he’s crossing the line too.

Keith hums at the sensations, taking the liberty to stretch his arms up and hook them over Lance’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer till they’re chest to chest. If he wanted to, he might find the steady pounding of Lance’s heart where they’re pressed together, and consider his own heartbeat speeding up to match. But he doesn’t. Instead he swipes his tongue along Lance’s lips and searches for a different feeling.

He hasn’t kissed someone in so long, let alone this ardently and it’s so satisfying to just let go and not worry about anything else.

Lance’s hands move up his sides, one hand dipping back down to rest on the small of his back and push their hips closer together, the other traveling up to cradle his head and deepen their kisses. He threads his fingers through Keith’s hair and gently tugs on the dark locks to tilt his head back. A groan slips from Keith’s lips as he obliges, taking the opportunity to catch his breath and try and form some kind of coherent thought pertaining to what comes after this, but then Lance’s mouth is on his jaw, his neck, softly sucking on the skin there and it’s a whole new level of intimate that makes his pulse frantic under Lance’s mouth.

Then his lips are brushing against Keith’s ear and he’s hugging him closer.

“My place?” He sounds hesitant, unsure of whether it’s okay to even ask.

Lance wants to take him back to his place to . . . do what? More of this, something else? Who knows? Who cares? It feels good. Lance feels good, his fingers gently kneading the touch starved muscles of Keith’s lower back and doing everything to sway his decision.

Keith slides his hands over Lance’s shoulders and down his chest, pushing him back and nodding in response to his question. Lance is quick to pull away and move them to the side to yank open the door for Keith, closing it after he climbs in.

After securing his seat belt, Keith leans back in the comfy passenger’s seat, catching his breath and marveling at the sleek, black interior as Lance rounds the front of the car to get in.

“My apartment isn’t too far from here,” he explains as he starts the car up and pulls out of the parking lot to join oncoming traffic, clearly making an effort to regain his own composure.

Then they drive for at least a whole three minutes in stuffy silence with nothing but the AC and the sounds of surrounding traffic to fill the void.

How they went from sucking on each other’s faces to avoiding any sort of contact Keith can’t quite figure out, but he guesses it has something to do with the fact that they’re both totally new at this and don’t have a clue as to what the hell they’re doing.

“So,” Lance clears his throat and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “What do you want?”

Keith turns to look at Lance. “What?”

“You heard me. What do you want? Like, money-wise. What can  _I_ do for _you_?” He chances a quick glance at Keith, eyebrows raised in question, then turns back to the road.

Oh. They’re doing this now.

“Uh . . .” Keith mentally wipes away the fuzzy feeling fogging up his mind to clear his thoughts. He’s gone over this part in his head at least a million times, boiled everything down to a simple request. Keith figures if he can get Lance to pay for his housing costs, he can use the money he earns from his job and the few commissions he’s recently gotten to take care of everything else like groceries, his phone bill, art supplies, etc. Worst case scenario Lance only agrees to pay for a portion of what he asks for, or gives him a certain amount of money at a time for Keith to distribute however he’d like. Whatever the case, he’ll be more than grateful for whatever Lance gives him. Keith takes a deep breath.

“I need my rent taken care of, along with my utility bills.”

A pause.

“Okay. And?”

Keith blinks, taken aback by Lance’s expectant tone. He hadn’t planned to ask for more than that but there’s Lance, sitting next to him with his hair a little ruffled from Keith’s wandering hands, and looking like he wants Keith to ask him for so much more.

Well, he could stand to have one more thing taken off his chest. He takes another calming breath.

“I need money for groceries. And . . . that’s it.”

“Seriously?” Lance snaps his head to the side for just a second to look at Keith, genuine astonishment on his face. “I thought you were gonna try and drain my bank account or ask for a ten thousand-dollar allowance or something.”

Keith crosses his arms indignantly and glares out the window at Lance’s assumptions, mood morphing into something akin to irritation.

“I don’t take more than I need.”

Lance barks out a laugh, which only serves to increase Keith’s annoyance. He thought Lance would be relieved to have someone who wouldn’t try and drain him for everything he’s worth, not make fun of him when he asks for something simple.

“You do realize how this works, right? Look, I’m more than happy to make sure your bills are taken care of and you have food to eat, but the whole point of our ‘arrangement’ is for both of us to get what we want and then some.”

Keith contemplates that for a moment. What does he want? He wants his freaking bills paid and food in his fridge. That’s literally it, the whole reason he’s even with Lance right now, in his car, driving towards his apartment to go do god knows what. It’s embarrassing enough being in this situation and asking Lance to take care of his shit, he couldn’t possibly bring himself to ask him for anything more, even if he needed it. Besides, with the more pressing issues out of the way, Keith is confident he can handle whatever else he needs.

“How about your phone?” Lance offers. “I saw you pull it out earlier and it definitely looks like you could use a new one.”

Keith leans back in his seat, arms still crossed, and looks at Lance out the corner of his eye.

“There’s nothing wrong with my phone, it works just fine.” Which isn’t entirely true.

“Maybe I should get you some prescription glasses too. That thing is an eyesore.”

Sure, the screen is horribly cracked, it’s annoyingly slow, and sometimes calls cut off and texts don’t get through and . . . Keith sighs. Yeah, he could use a new phone.

“Fine.”

Lance chuckles, and makes a sharp turn towards a large parking garage, announcing they’ve arrived at their destination.

Keith supposes he’ll have to get used to Lance offering and giving him things he refuses to ask for himself. As they get out the car and make their way towards the main building, Keith wonders what Lance is getting out of this. He just addressed Keith’s benefits, but made no mention of his own wants or needs.

“Well, what about you? What do you want?” His voice sounds too loud and echoes too much in the wide-open space of the garage, it almost makes him wish he hadn’t said anything.

Lance comes to a stop in front of him and looks over his shoulder, eyes traveling over Keith’s body with an expression that just screams untamed lust, all the carefree smiles and lighthearted jokes gone with the wind.

“Just you.”

There’s a buzzing in Keith’s veins and an anticipatory tensing of his muscles that's nothing like the anxiousness he’d been feeling earlier, all because Lance looked at him and said those two little words.

Lance, who he barely knows.

Lance, who wants to give him too much.

Lance, who looks like he about to show Keith exactly what he’s gotten himself into.

 

When they make it to Lance’s apartment and the door swings open, Keith is relived. Partly because Lance lives on one of the highest floors of the building and the elevator ride had been excruciatingly long and quiet, but mostly because after their little scene in the parking garage, his pants had gotten suspiciously tighter.

He finds himself standing in what could only be a living room, but barely has time to appreciate it in all its clean and modern glory before Lance appears in front of him, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist, pulling him close, and capturing his lips in another heavy kiss.

He’d like to say they started back where they left off, but that would be far from the truth. Lance’s movements had been soft and cautious before, but now he’s fervent, slotting their mouths together with a skilled ease and touching whatever exposed skin he can find.

This is the Lance he needs to get to know, the part of him Keith will probably see the most of. 

He feels Lance’s hands move from his waist to slide lower, reaching to grip his ass then suddenly he’s being hoisted up. He wraps his legs around Lance’s waist and squeezes to keep himself from falling, not that he isn’t confident in Lance’s ability to hold him up. Even through the thick denim of Lance’s jacket, Keith can feel solid muscle where he drags his hands along Lance’s shoulders, chest and arms.

Lance walks them towards the nearest wall and presses Keith against it, pinning him there with his hips and giving his hands the freedom to venture toward the hem of Keith’s shirt. Warm fingers slip under the cotton fabric to trail up his stomach and along his ribcage. Lance pulls away from Keith’s mouth and moves his lips along his jaw.

“This okay?” His voice is low and husky in Keith’s ear, fingers reaching around to the part of Keith’s back that isn’t flush against the wall and brushing over his spine. A shiver racks through his body in response and Keith can only nod and blush when Lance continues his exploration.

Keith cards his fingers through the shorter hair on the back of Lance’s head and accidentally pulls when Lance grinds their hips together with a much-needed friction that has them both groaning. Lance kisses him with a new kind of hunger, pushing harder and licking into his mouth as he slides his hands lower, past the waistband of Keith’s pants and underneath his boxers to grab whatever ass he can get to.

But something's not right.

Keith’s whole body tenses, eyes growing wide and mind on high alert. A wave of panic washes over him that causes his stomach to sink because this whole time he’d managed to overlook one very, _very_ important detail.

He hadn’t prepared for this, at all. Like, not even a little. Not when he’d showered, not before he left his apartment.

Fuck, Keith didn’t think they’d get this far on the first date. And he’d been stupid enough to let lust cloud his better judgment, agreeing to let Lance take him here.

Keith pulls away and grips Lance’s shoulders, hard, still aware of Lance’s hands on his ass and how good that feels despite his current inner turmoil.

Lance doesn’t catch on at first and looks mildly confused as he leans forward, trying to continue what they were doing. But he stops all of a sudden, eyebrows furrowing when he seems to realize Keith isn’t reciprocating. He straightens himself, giving Keith space to breathe and sliding his hands up to rest on Keith’s waist.

“You alright?”

Keith shakes his head, trying to find the right words and simultaneously dying of embarrassment for having to say it out loud.

“I’m not – I haven’t –,” he sucks in a deep breath and ignores the genuine concern on Lance’s face. “I didn’t know we were going to be doing this, so I didn’t . . . prepare.”

It all comes out in a rush and he scrunches his eyes closed to avoid seeing any kind of disappointment from Lance. He doesn’t think he could handle it, knowing he’s already fucked up and they haven’t even been official for a whole day.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Is it?

Keith opens his eyes. Lance is smiling at him.

“We don’t have to go all the way. Whatever you’re comfortable with, yeah?”

 _Are you fucking kidding me_ , is what Keith wants to say because he was not expecting _that_. Is Lance just completely incapable of being disappointed in him?

Instead he responds with a small, “Yeah,” releases his hold on Lance’s shoulders and loops his arms around his neck to pull them close again.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop.” Lance whispers and tentatively tucks a few strands of hair behind Keith’s ear.

Keith rolls his hips forward, trying to show Lance how much he doesn’t want him to stop. They just need to take it in a different direction.

Keith is throbbing, his pulse pounding, blood rushing through his veins and gathering where he’s pressed tight against Lance and his hardness. Lance catches on, grinding their hips together and leaning back to catch Keith’s mouth in a kiss. It’s like a breath of fresh air when their lips connect and they pick up where they left off.

When he feels a hand fumbling at the zipper of his pants, Keith leans back against the wall to give Lance more room to finally free him from his underwear. Lance gently wraps a hand around the base of his cock, and begins to move his hand, giving a few slow tugs that are barely there and not enough. The stimulation has him sighing softly and he’s so relieved that they’re still doing this. Keith needs this, more than he’d like to admit.

A whine slips from his throat after a tight squeeze around the head of his dick and immediately Lance picks up the pace, pumping Keith’s cock faster. Keith groans as his head falls back and hits the wall, his stomach muscles tensing around the building pressure in his gut. Lance lurches forward to lightly scrape his teeth along Keith’s exposed throat, then presses his lips against his jaw and the corner of his mouth, coaxing Keith to meet him halfway for a kiss.

Keith tilts his head down so his face is level with Lance’s and it’s almost hard to breathe. When they kiss it’s hot, wet, messy and dizzying. They push and pull at each other like two opposing forces trying to find a middle ground. Lance adds a twist to his wrist that has Keith involuntarily jerking his hips into Lance’s touch, the muscles of his lower stomach tightening even more and Keith can’t do anything but sit there and take it but he doesn’t care because it feels so fucking good to have someone else take care of him and be responsible for pushing him over the edge.

And over the edge he goes, with an unabashed moan and a rush of adrenaline that makes him feel like he’s floating and all his nerves are carrying sparks of electricity.

Lance is saying something, apologizing for the mess on Keith’s shirt, but he isn’t really listening. That was amazing, but . . .

Isn’t he supposed to make Lance feel good too?

Still basking in his post-orgasmic haze, Keith wriggles out of Lance’s hold until he’s on his feet again, keeping a hand latched onto Lance’s shoulder to steady himself while he uses the other one to shove himself back in his pants and pull them up haphazardly. He barely has time to catch his breath and reorient himself before Lance is crowding into his space again, clinging to his waist and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck and jaw. It takes Keith’s breath away, but as much as he likes that, he’s got a job to do.

He grabs Lance’s jacket and turns them around so Lance is the one against the wall. Keith holds Lance’s dumbfounded gaze as he drops to his knees, trailing his hands down Lance’s chest and stomach, and stopping at his hips to focus on his belt.

“You don’t have to –”

“I want to.”

He blames his competitive nature for egging him on, pushing him to want to one-up Lance and make him feel even better than Lance had made him feel. Show him he didn’t make a mistake in choosing him to be his sugar baby. 

Keith continues undoing Lance’s belt buckle, then proceeds to unbutton and unzip his pants, pushing them down to his mid-thigh to reveal Lance’s briefs and the erection straining underneath them. Keith swallows, takes one last look up at Lance before closing his eyes and leans forward to bring his open mouth to Lance’s clothed dick.

As soon as his mouth makes contact, Lance lets out a guttural groan, and Keith can make out the sound of his head thumping back against the wall. Damn. He hasn’t even done anything yet and Lance is reacting like this. 

He mouths along the outline of Lance’s dick, mapping out its length and girth with his lips and tongue.

Fuck, he’s huge. Is he even going to be able to fit him in his mouth?

Keith reaches up and places his hands on Lance’s hips, slipping his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and hesitantly pulling them down lest Lance change his mind all of a sudden. But he doesn’t, and Keith doesn’t even have to look up at him to know that he’s thoroughly enjoying it.

Lance is panting, fast and steady until his breath hitches when Keith finally pulls his briefs down to join his pants and his erection springs free.

He doesn’t think about, doesn’t falter; Keith just goes for it, taking Lance in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head and sliding as far down as he can go. Lance’s reaction is instant. He bucks his hips, pushing himself further into Keith’s mouth, and curses softly under his breath.

Keith’s no blushing virgin and has given his fair share of blowjobs, but he just has to take a moment to admire the feel of Lance’s cock on his tongue, as wide and heavy as it looks. Keith hums and pulls away, sticking his tongue out and flattening it against the warm underside Lance’s dick, dragging it down to the base then up to the tip. He pushes the foreskin back with his spit-slicked lips and gives a few small sucks to the head, earning a particularly loud hiss from Lance. Keith secures his hands in Lance’s bunched up pants to steady himself as he stretches his lips around Lance’s cock, closes his eyes and goes down again, doing his best to fit more and more of him into his mouth each time he goes down.

Lance’s hand falls on his head, fingers brushing through his bangs and moving the hair up and away from his face, holding it at the top of his head and gripping it to gently guide Keith’s direction and pace. Keith allows Lance to direct him however he likes and wonders if he’s watching him, if he likes what he sees. He bobs his head up and down, sucking hard as he pulls back and pausing to push the tip of his tongue against the precum leaking from Lance’s slit before sliding back down.

Keith loses himself to the rhythm and concentrates on Lance’s soft moans and groans until a minute or two later when Lance mumbles something that doesn’t quite sound like English and gives a sharp tug on his hair. Keith doesn’t have to understand what Lance is saying to know what’s about to happen. And while he appreciates that Lance is considerate enough not to come down his throat without notice, Keith is not letting him come on his face, especially when he put so much effort into making himself look nice earlier.

Lance groans and gives another warning tug but Keith refuses to pull off and instead forces Lance as far down his throat as he can manage to get his point across. It doesn’t take long after that, three shallow thrusts and Lance is coming with a “ _Fuck_ ,” through gritted teeth. Hot cum slides down his throat and Keith pulls away before swallowing with a wince. He releases the death grip he’d had on Lance’s pants and rubs at his now sore jaw, experimentally opening and closing it as he peers up at Lance to watch his face.

Lance is looking down at him with something to close to disbelief written across his face, and he looks about as tired as Keith feels, his eyelids drooping to cover those deep blue irises. But then he blinks and the fatigue disappears so quickly Keith might’ve just imagined it.

He gets up on wobbly knees as Lance averts his gaze, tucks himself away and pulls his pants up. That was . . . definitely something. Keith might’ve had the decency to feel shy or embarrassed about what he just did had Lance not been so receptive.

For a few long moments they don’t even look at each other despite how close they still are, close enough to touch and smell and make out the tiny details on each other’s faces, which Keith decides is too much and takes a step back. Everything happened so quickly. Now that they aren’t preoccupied with sex or conversation, the air between them is tense.

The silence makes Keith’s stomach churn.

In the short time it takes Keith to calm his breathing steady his mind, Lance seems to have also calmed down from their sex induced frenzy. He runs his hands through his hair and down his face, then looks at Keith again, his tanned cheeks now sporting a blush.

“Um . . .” Lance points to his torso and Keith looks down at himself to see his poor shirt covered in the evidence of their little escapade. He thinks back to when Lance had apologized. Maybe he should have payed attention.

“Oh.”

“Lemme just, get you a napkin.” He turns away and heads to the kitchen beyond the living room, giving Keith the opportunity to hastily straighten his clothes, smooth down his hair and wipe at his mouth in an attempt to make it look like he didn’t just suck dick.

Lance walks back with a folded, damp paper towel and hands it to Keith sheepishly while rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry, again. I really didn’t think that through.”

Keith takes the paper towel, smiling at Lance to assure him it’s okay. “It’s fine, really. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight either.” Heh, pun intended. 

Lance stays quiet as he watches Keith wipe at the partially dried cum on his shirt, taking the dirtied paper and tossing it in the trash when Keith has cleaned up what he can. It’s not perfect but it is less noticeable.

“Well,” Keith shifts his weight from one foot to the other and crosses his arms to hold his biceps. “That was fun but, I’m, gonna get going.”

“You’re leaving? It’s pretty late. You don’t want something to eat first, or . . .”

Keith shakes his head, ignoring the tug in his gut at the thought of a meal, and the aftertaste of jizz on his tongue he’d love to wash down with something else. “You’ve done enough and I’d rather not make this any more personal than it has to be.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Keith holds his breath, realizing how rude that probably sounded.

But Lance is nodding. “Right. Agreed.”

To avoid any more awkward silence Keith clears his throat and starts to make his way to the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ll uh, message you later.”

“Wait.”

Keith stops, and Lance is behind him, hand reaching over his shoulder and pressing against the door to keep it shut. Keith turns around to face him and Lance tilts his head to the side with an easy smile, leaning forwards into Keith’s personal bubble.

“When can I see you again? ‘Cause we still need to work out how I’m going to take care of your bills and stuff. And, of course,” Lance stares down at Keith with a renewed gleam in his eyes, “I’d love to introduce you to my mattress.”

Keith scoffs, trying to hide his amused smile at the last part, and pushes against Lance’s shoulder to get him to move, heading for the notepad he’d noticed earlier on the coffee table. Grabbing a lone pen, he scribbles his number on the paper then signs his name underneath.

“Text me tomorrow.” They’ve done plenty for today. He needs to go home and rest, think things over.

Lance looks at the notepad then back at Keith with a wink. “Will do gorgeous. Hey, let me call a cab for you.”

Feeling weird for accepting but knowing better than to refuse, Keith takes the money Lance gives him for the cab fare. They part ways at Lance’s front door with a smile and a tiny wave, then Keith makes his way down to the ground floor and out of the building.

By now the sun has nearly set and the traffic has thinned out some, both on the street and the sidewalk. Keith steps closer to the curb to wait for his ride, which Lance assured would be there in a matter of minutes. He clutches the money in his pocket and takes a deep breath of city air, smiling.

He did it. He actually followed through.

And the best part is, he’s already gotten more than he bargained for. A hand job, a phone (probably), money for rent _and_ groceries.

Keith feels a little wild, eager even, to be doing something he’d never thought he’d do in a million years.

But he’s here, he’s ready, and maybe, a tiny part of him likes where this is going.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is, at this rate I'll finish this fic in 3738293740 years.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took way too long. Apologies, friends. Suffering through season eight however, motivated me to write the rest of this chapter. I just really wanted to put out some klance content to ease the grief. Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

The sheets are too thin, sticking to the sweatiest parts of his body and tangling between his limbs as he tries to rediscover the sweet spot of his mattress and ease back into what had been a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

But that doesn’t happen. It would be too easy.

Lance kicks the damp sheets away, sprawling out on his back and yawning into the empty space of his bedroom, blinking his eyes open and trying to accept that today is here and yesterday isn’t quite gone.

He doesn’t want to think about it. His head aches and he hates it because this was supposed to make him feel better. He doesn’t want to think about Keith, and how good it had felt to finally touch and be touched. The memory of Keith is burned into his skin, a reminder that this isn’t some one-night stand he can forget about and move on from. This is much more personal and intimate and actually kind of terrifying.

Those few hours he’d spent with Keith had been refreshing, yes. But the guilt. _God_ , the guilt that’s finally caught up with him. Had he been selfish to kiss Keith and bring him back here in his emotional state of “I don’t give a fuck as long as it feels good”? Did Keith even want to, or did he just smile and go along with whatever Lance wanted because he needs money?

Again, this was supposed to make him feel better.

Lance rolls to the edge of the bed and picks himself up, pressure building between his temples as he stretches his arms above his head and cracks the stiffness from his spine. A shower would clear his head but he doesn’t feel up to it. He doesn’t have work today anyway, so he goes to the kitchen in favor of food. Lance shoves the last two frozen blueberry waffles into his toaster and reheats yesterday morning’s coffee in the microwave. Daylight pours into his apartment when he slides open the curtains covering the sliding glass doors in the living room.

Coffee in hand, Lance gazes out upon the city.

Yeah, he’d gotten his ego stroked and a fantastic blowjob that washed away about a week’s worth of stress (and felt fucking fantastic), but at what cost? Now Keith probably thinks he’s only interested in him for sex, which is not at all what he’d intended to happen when he’d asked him out on that date. So much for taking it slow. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

The toaster dings, he’s swallowed all his coffee, and Lance feels so tired all of a sudden despite his good night’s sleep. He sighs and walks back to the kitchen to retrieve his waffles, tossing them onto a plate and moving to sit down on the couch.

Keith’s note is still there on the table, his name and number scribbled onto the notepad. Staring at Keith’s handwriting, Lance remembers his promise to buy him a new phone. He smiles, thinking back to how flustered Keith had looked trying to deny his current phone’s terrible condition, and how he’d finally accepted Lance’s offer with a blush and scowl. He also remembers Keith’s “text me tomorrow” and that’s all it takes to jerk him out of his state of mind.

He doesn’t have time to sit around and self-loathe. Lance is gonna eat his waffles, get dressed and drive himself to the store because he has a promise to fulfill, a new responsibility that’s going to keep him out of his head.

Hopefully.

That’s the plan, at least.

 

Lance heads out to buy Keith’s new phone by himself. After talking with him for a week, and then actually meeting him in person yesterday, Lance knows for a fact if he brought Keith with him he would be too modest and pick one of the cheaper phones available. And Lance isn’t about to let that happen. Plus, he doesn’t know what Keith’s work schedule is like, so he doesn’t want to bother him or make him feel obligated.

The last thing Lance wants is for Keith to think that he has to do whatever Lance wants just because he’s giving him money. He did a little research before jumping in front of the sugar dating train with Keith, and he does not, under any circumstances, want to take part in some sick sex-for-money relationship.

Oh hell no.

He just wants to have fun, give gifts whenever he feels like it and go on cute dates to take his mind off everything else. And yes, maybe have casual sex every once in a while because he has needs, ok? But he feels like he’s treading on thin ice and can’t afford to make any more unnecessary cracks if he wants to keep Keith around, which he does, so Lance shoves that last thought to the bottom of his to-do list and focuses on picking out a decent phone.

He doesn’t take long. Less than twenty minutes and he’s walking out the door and back to his car with the goods stuffed into a small bag. He’d swiped his card and signed his name feeling rather proud of himself. He’s always loved shopping for other people so of course he had to go the extra mile and pick out a sturdy black case and matching earbuds to go with the phone. He picked a model similar to Allura’s after hearing so many good things about it and figured Keith would like it too.

Lance wonders if she’s free for lunch.

He hasn’t told her much of anything about his new situation despite his earlier promise, and now that he’s reached some sort of milestone with the whole thing he supposes she deserves the ‘juicy details’, as she’ll likely call it. Plus, he could really use her company right about yesterday. She’s a very good voice of reason.

So Lance sends her a quick text and just as he’d hoped, she is free and all too excited to hear how his date with Keith went. They settle on a place to eat and Lance meets her there, finding her seated at an outside table for two, sipping a glass of iced water and looking fabulous in her light pink sundress. She pushes her matching sunglasses up to rest on the top of her head when she notices him and smiles as he settles into the other seat.

“Hey! I’m so glad you messaged me. I was just on my way home to go eat leftovers.” She scrunches her face and sticks her tongue out in mock disgust.

“Good thing I caught you in time,” Lance mimics her smile.

Allura pushes a second, untouched glass of water towards him and gestures for him to take a sip. He’s aware of her watching him with clear excitement in her eyes as he slowly starts to drain the glass. The moment Lance sets his glass back on the table, she leans forward into his space, smiling wide.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” He knows damn well what.

“Tell me how it went! The only thing I’ve heard from you all week is ‘I got a date’ and then nothing. I’m completely in the dark here!”

“Can’t we order first.”

She leans back and waves her hand dismissively at his pouting. “I already did. We’re sharing a Greek salad and a fruit bowl. Now tell me.”

Lance sighs and rests his chin in his hand. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything.”

“Okay . . .” Lance racks his brain for something significant. “His name is Keith and he’s an artist.”

There’s an awkward pause as Allura raises an eyebrow at him expectantly, waiting for more, and Lance’s face gets very hot as it dawns on him that despite talking to Keith every single day for over a week now, he knows absolutely nothing about him.

Well now he feels like an even bigger piece of shit.

“And, well, I don’t really know anything else about him,” he admits.

She looks unamused at his lack of information.

“He likes chai?” Lance offers guiltily, and Allura rolls her eyes.

“Just show me a picture.”

Lance relents, pulls out his phone, opens the sugar dating app and navigates to Keith’s profile. He angles the screen so she can see better and her reaction is instant, her face lighting up with a smile. She gasps and braces her hand against her chest as she leans closer.

“Oh! He’s adorable!”

Lance nods in agreement and hands her his phone so she can look through the rest of the pictures herself.

“Yep. He’s adorable and I’m an asshole.”

Allura frowns and stops ogling Keith’s photos to look up at him quizzically. She clicks the phone off and slides it back across the table to him before folding her arms across her chest.

“I’m at least ninety five percent sure that last part is entirely untrue.”

“Hate to break it to you, but it is. I’m terrible.”

“Alright,” Allura leans back in her chair and folds her hands in her lap, all elegance and poise. “What happened?”

In that moment their waiter approaches their table with the food Allura ordered. After he leaves, Lance pops a piece of fruit in his mouth and chews thoughtfully, hesitating to answer because is it really worth talking about? It’s not like he has anything pleasant to say, nothing to lift the mood. But when he looks at Allura she looks back knowingly, softly, quirking her lips up a bit as if to tell him it’s okay to let it out. So he takes a deep breath and the words come out in one big rush.

“Well, first of all, we spent over two hours just talking yesterday and all I can tell you about him is that he’s an artist and he likes chai. How shitty is that? I just talked the whole time! And then I tried to be a gentleman and give him a ride home when we were done but of course I fucked that up because I just had to kiss him. I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants and we ended up going back to my place instead. I don’t even know if he really wanted to, or if he felt pressured. We didn’t go all the way, but still. Real classy, Lance. At least he was into it. I mean, I think he was. If not, he did a damn good job pretending. Now he probably thinks I’m only going to use him for sex. I’m such an idiot.”

He slumps over, planting his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands as he concludes his short rant with a quiet, frustrated, “Fuck,” into his palms.

Allura doesn’t say anything. Lance peeks at her from between his fingers and finds her smiling at him like she finds his turmoil amusing. He sighs exasperatedly and drops his hands into his lap. Her voice is soft and comforting when she does finally speak.

“Feeling better?”

Actually, yes. It feels good to voice his thoughts. He nods.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

“Yes please.” He reaches for a fork and begins to stab at the salad as she talks.

“You worry too much.” She says it as if she was pointing out how the sky is blue. “And what are you fussing over, exactly? You’re afraid you’ve ruined your chances with Keith because your date was less than ideal? You think he sees you a certain way because of a few poor choices on your behalf?”

“Yes . . .”

“Well what are you going to do about it?”

“Uh . . . apologize?”

“Naturally. And who’s to say he didn’t enjoy it? I’m sure he’d say something if he was uncomfortable. And you’re far too sweet and perceptive to do him – or anyone – harm.”

Keith did stop them from going any further than what they did, Lance recalls. And he made sure Keith was comfortable and consenting before they continued so . . . he supposes she’s right.

Shit. Was it that simple?

Of course. Voice of reason.

“Also, I think you need to reassess what you’re doing and why.”

“What?”

“Well it’s not a ‘real’ relationship, right?”

“Right . . .”

“So don’t worry yourself trying to make things perfect. It’s supposed to be fun, not frightening.”

Well damn. She’s right. Of course she’s right.

He doesn’t have the time or energy for a real relationship so, he’s supplementing. He just wants to feel needed, wanted and useful without all the emotional attachment and the ups and downs of an actual partner. The boyfriend experience, to put it simply. And it doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s not real. It’s whatever he wants it to be.

“Holy shit, Allura. I swear you’re like some ten-thousand-year-old deity who has the answers to everything.”

She laughs through her nose as she grabs her fork and pokes at an olive on her half of the salad.

“I’m not denying anything, but you don’t need ten thousand years of wisdom to see something so simple. Just talk to him. You’ll be fine.”

Right. He’ll apologize for yesterday, start fresh and use his time with Keith as practice for when he’s finally ready for a real, committed relationship. Easy peasy.

“Thanks, Allura. You’re the best.”

“I try.”

 

After lunch, Lance ends up at a local park. He picks a random, sunny, dirt path and walks around picnic areas and playgrounds, contemplating this whole sugar dating thing.

He thinks he’s going to enjoy this, the time he spends with Keith, since he is paying for it after all. They can do all kinds of things together, everything he’s been too busy wrapped up in his own head to do by himself. Lance can take him out to all his favorite places to eat so they can have long conversations about anything and everything, and maybe visit the local art museum if Keith likes that stuff. He’ll bring Keith to business parties and galas so he’s not so bored and lonely, and they can quietly make fun of everyone while eating all the unnecessarily fancy finger food. Or they could go see a movie, maybe hang out at Lance’s apartment eating junk food and watching TV so he can act like a normal guy his age for once.

And after they’ve had their fun, they’ll go their separate ways and back to their own lives until next time. It’s a good plan. Simple.

He heads home when the sun dips behind the trees and there’s no more sunlit paths to walk along, idly wondering if Keith is thinking as much about this as he is.

 

When he opens the door to his apartment, Lance is hit with the memory of his and Keith’s little escapade yesterday, in this very spot, and it’s so vivid and unwarranted that he has to pause and rub at his eyes for a moment before continuing through the doorway. His face is too hot and he kicks his shoes off with a little more force than necessary on his way to the living room.

He just needs to talk to him.

Apologize.

Say something.

Lance falls into the sofa and places the bag with Keith’s new phone on the coffee table before he sinks into the cushions and sighs loudly into the otherwise quiet apartment. He still owes Keith a text and should probably say something before it gets too late in the evening.

Maybe he should just invite him over. Lance can give him his phone, come up with some kind of apology for yesterday, and try to set things right with, perhaps, pizza and a movie.

Sounds easy enough, right? Kill a few birds with one stone?

Lance reaches for the paper with Keith’s number and creates a new contact for him in his phone before typing up a text.

_Hey, Keith. It’s Lance. Are you free tonight?_

He wants this. Keith’s company. He needs it tonight, for more than one reason. So why does he feel so damn nervous?

He sends Allura a text in a last minute attempt to smother his nerves.

_I’m inviting Keith over for pizza and a movie. And an apology. Wish me luck._

And she sends back a bunch of heart and sparkle emojis almost instantly, which brings a smile to his face but doesn’t quite steady the rapid beating of his heart as he’d hoped it would.

He shuts his phone off and rests his head against the back of the sofa to stare at the blank ceiling.

Should they watch a DVD or find something on Netflix? What kind of pizza should he order? And from where? He should probably practice an apology first. But what if Keith can’t even hang out tonight?

His phone buzzes to life in his hand, a notification popping up on the screen.

_> Hey. Yeah I’m free is there somewhere you wanted to meet?_

A breath of relief.

_You ok with hanging out at my place?_

Anxiousness still floods his veins.

_> Sure, what’s your address?_

Lance eagerly gives it to him, Keith says it might take him a while to get there, and Lance promises to meet him in the lobby.

In the hour it takes Keith to text him back, giving him a ten-minute warning of his arrival, Lance takes the shower he’d skipped this morning and treats himself to a face mask while he wanders around his apartment, straightening up little odds and ends. He’d decided to wait on ordering the apology pizza until Keith gets here, considering the possibility he might not even like pizza.

Lance travels to the ground floor and into the lobby to wait. He sits on one of the couches closest to the main doors and picks up the first magazine he sees, keeping his head low and narrowly avoiding having to make small talk with a few of his neighbors or the front desk receptionist. He just needs to get Keith and get back to safety.

He doesn’t really read whatever magazine he picked up, just breezes through the pictures and article titles in between looking up at the sound of the doors opening and closing with each person that comes through.

His palms keep sticking to the paper.

When it’s Keith’s familiar form that walks into the lobby, Lance tosses his read to the side and walks to meet him as casually as possible.

“Hey.” Lance greets him with a tiny wave and tries to subdue the excitement in his smile. Suddenly the people walking past them don’t really matter.

“Hi.” Keith smiles back, cool and confident. He’s dressed in all black, his hair pulled back into a small ponytail with his bangs and the shortest pieces framing his face. “Sorry I took so long.” He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and looks up at Lance apologetically. There are circles under his eyes.

“No worries. I’m just glad you could come over.”

“Well, thanks for inviting me.”

Lance jerks his head toward the nearest elevator, anticipation filtering through the anxiousness now that Keith’s here, standing in front of him, willing to go with him.

“Come on. I have something for you.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrow and his head tilts to the side in question, but he follows Lance dutifully as he’s led up to the apartment for the second time.

On the way up, Lance asks him if he’d be okay with ordering a pizza and is delighted to see Keith’s face light up a little before he resumes his usual easy, polite expression and agrees. Lance asks him what kind he likes but Keith insists he’s fine with anything, so Lance tries not to overthink it and places an order for his usual by the time they reach the apartment.

He doesn’t give Keith time to do much of anything before he’s ushering him into the living room excitedly. He’s always loved the thrill of gift giving. Now he gets to do it as much as he wants. He plucks the bag off his coffee table and holds it out to a confused looking Keith, who gingerly takes it from Lance’s hand. He looks down at the bag then up at Lance as if to make sure it’s really for him before opening it and staring down at the contents with wide eyes.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and reaches into the bag to pull out his new phone still in its box. Lance smiles widely at his reaction. “I didn’t think you were gonna – I mean, this is model is really expensive. My old phone doesn’t even cost half as much as this! I can’t–”

Lance holds up a hand to silence Keith’s expected rambling.

“I’m going to be showering you in gifts from now on. Get used to it.”

After looking wide eyed at Lance just long enough to make the silence a tiny bit awkward, Keith nods, drops the phone back into the bag and smiles at Lance.

“Thank you, this is really amazing.”

And Lance feels like a million bucks, unable to help the dorky smile that spreads across his face and the warmth that fills his lungs.

But it’s short lived when another very important thought crosses his mind. They still need to go over how Keith’s getting his money. Because the reality of their situation is, Lance is paying him for his time, company, affections, etc.

He’d skimmed over a few options in his head earlier and after some research figured a reloadable prepaid card would be the easiest way to go for a number of reasons.

Lance rubs at the back of his neck and watches Keith place his gift back on the coffee table.

“Okay. I know this is a little awkward for both of us, but we need to discuss payment.”

“Right.” Keith purses his lips and fidgets with his hands, looking only slightly more uncomfortable than Lance feels.

“Here,” he gestures to the sofa as he moves to sit down. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

Keith toes his shoes off and places them to the side before he sits down next to Lance at a comfortable distance. Lance grabs the notepad still sporting Keith’s number and flips to the next page. He hands it to him along with a pen.

“State your price and we’ll go from there.”

Keith takes the items from him, hesitantly jots down a number, and gives them back to him. Lance looks down at the measly $1,000 scribbled onto the paper.

Keith had said he needed money for rent, utilities and groceries. This can’t possibly cover all that; rent in this city isn’t exactly cheap. His own rent costs almost twice as much as that. Lance looks at Keith doubtfully.

“This is per month, right?”

“Yes . . .”

Lance nods, then draws a line through Keith’s writing and puts down his own number.

$1,500.

He shows the paper to Keith who manages to look bewildered and argumentative at the same time.

“But that’s –”

“Exactly how much I’m giving you.”

Keith furrows his brows and gestures to the bag with his new phone.

“But you already –”

“Listen, not to sound like a rich douchebag, but this,” he points to the amount he’d written, “is like pocket money to me. And knowing it’s being put to good use instead of just sitting in the bank makes me happy in a way I hope you can at least try to understand.”

Keith closes his mouth and looks at him long and hard (and maybe a little intimidatingly skeptical) before his expression gives way to softer eyes.

“That’s very generous, thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. Happy to.”

Lance smiles and realizes just how easy it is to do so. His chest swells because Keith looks so grateful under that reclusive exterior, relieved even, like layers of stress have visibly been lifted from his shoulders.

But then he looks confused, conflicted.

Determined.

He’s shifting closer and then he’s leaning in, looking at him with those dark eyes before they close and Lance is leaning too.

It’s magnetic, much like their first kiss but this one is softer, unrushed. Lips sliding, pushing into each other again and again.

But amidst the flurry of sensations Lance can only wonder: why? Is Keith doing this because he wants to, or because he feels obligated?

He feels a hand on his knee, moving slowly toward his inner thigh, raising a tingling from under his skin.

That’s not how he wants this to be. Lance sighs through his nose and pulls away from Keith’s lips gently, reluctantly, as if he was dragging himself from the comfort of a sleep-warmed bed. He wraps his fingers around Keith’s wrist and redirects his wandering hand to rest on his own thigh. He speaks before Keith can say anything.

“I want to apologize for yesterday.”

He moves out of Keith’s space, braces his elbows on his knees and looks to a confused Keith. Time to kill the third bird.

“I moved things too fast and it was totally uncalled for. I don’t want you thinking I only want you around for, you know, that. I’m sorry if I gave off the wrong impression. Don’t feel like you have to kiss me or anything.”

It’s quiet.

“Oh.” Keith’s voice is small, barely a whisper. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to apologize. Yesterday was – it was okay. . . I liked it. And, what we did.”

“Really?” Lance hates how hopeful his voice sounds. But Keith nods.

Really.

The air doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“Oh, well that’s a relief.” Lance tries to make his tone lighthearted. “Either way, I figured a movie and pizza would be a nice do-over date.”

“Yeah.” Keith smiles back at him, but falters. “So,” he starts but pauses and contemplates his words. “So we’re not gonna,” he glances towards Lance’s open bedroom door just down the hallway.

Lance remembers the cocky remark he made yesterday about introducing Keith to his mattress and is overcome with the urge to bang his head against the wall. His overconfident episodes can really be a bitch sometimes.

“No.” Lance shakes his head, then backtracks because who is he to deny Keith sexy time if he wants it? He was the one to initiate the kiss. “Unless you wanted to . . .?”

“No! I mean, uh, I’m pretty tired and a movie sounds perfect.” Keith smiles but it looks a little stiff.

“Okay then.” Lance grabs the TV remote. “What do you like to watch?”

“I don’t really watch a lot of TV.” Keith shrugs, readjusts himself and leans back into the cushions. “You should pick.”

Great.

Lance filters through Netflix as quickly as he can, searching for a movie with a thumbnail that looks interesting enough and checking with Keith, who of course agrees with his find.

Before Lance can make a comment about how the pizza should be here soon, the doorbell rings, and he’s pausing the opening credits to retrieve their dinner. He makes a point to watch Keith’s face when he walks back into the room, and involuntarily smiles when he sees Keith smiling, inhaling deeply, gaze flickering between Lance and the pizza box he sets on the table. Someone’s excited.

One good look at Keith’s frame though, and it’s not hard to put the pieces together and understand why. Poor guy looks like he hasn’t a decent meal in too long. Not that pizza is decent, but still.

On the bright side, Lance has the perfect excuse to take Keith out to eat as often as possible.

“Eat as much as you want. I ate earlier.” Lance opens the warm box and passes some of the napkins he’d grabbed from the kitchen to Keith. The calories will be good for him. Lance claims the only piece he plans on eating from the box. Keith picks up a piece too and gestures to Lance with it.

“Thanks. For the food this time.”

To which Lance mumbles a “Mhm, yeah, don’t worry about it,” through a mouthful of hot cheese.

They fall into an easy flow of eating and commentary.

Keith is very perceptive, Lance notes. But also very cynical. He thinks almost each character has ulterior motives or a secret plan, but all his theories are so logically sound that Lance can’t even come up with a legitimate argument.

And he doesn’t care. It’s strangely soothing to contemplate someone else’s thoughts.

By the time Lance is finished nibbling on his pizza, he notices Keith polishing off his fifth piece and tries not to stare but _damn_ that boy must’ve been hungry. Keith wipes his hands off and neatly disposes his napkins in the pizza box before closing it. He leans back into the sofa then, fingers fidgeting again now that they’re unoccupied.

There’s a tension that wafts through the air for a moment, but it dissipates the moment Keith shifts closer.

Closer and closer until he’s settled himself against Lance’s side and leans his head against Lance’s shoulder.

Lance stiffens because he wasn’t expecting that. But then he relaxes, rests his arm around Keith’s shoulders like in those cliché romance movies and marvels at how effortlessly they fit together, how nice it feels.

He could fall asleep like this.

He just might, Keith is so warm and solid and real against his body. He lets his head tilt back and closes his eyes, the movie a blur in the background.

Silence settles between them, no more commentary.

He doesn’t really care if Keith’s affections are genuine at this point because this – having a warm body to keep him company – is good enough.

Lance doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he feels Keith move, pushing himself upright to look back at him. His cheek is flushed from where it had been pressed against Lance’s shirt. Keith clears his throat as Lance sits up groggily and rubs at his face. “The plot was actually interesting, not as predictable as I thought.” “Oh yeah? I probably should’ve paid attention at the end. I almost fell asleep.” He runs a hand through his hair to smooth it out and smiles at Keith, but Keith’s turned his attention to the wall clock on the other side of the room.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay longer?”

“You’re welcome to stay, but you don’t have to.”

“Okay, then I need to get going if I’m going to make it home before dark.” He looks back at Lance with a sort of apology in his eyes again. Lance glances out the window and squints at the sun still somewhat high in the sky, hovering over the horizon.

“You have like, at least an hour until the sun sets. How far away do you live?”

“Not too far,” Keith shrugs. “But it took me over an hour to walk here earlier and people usually start going out right about now so that’s double the sidewalk traffic.”

“Wait. You walked all the way here?!”

Keith subtly tenses at Lance’s tone and nods slowly.

“Oh my god you could have said something. I thought you drove or took the bus. I would have picked you up or called a ride for you or something, geez.”

“Sorry.” Keith shrinks in on himself defensively and now Lance feels like an ass.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, just . . . don’t hesitate to ask if you need something. Come on,” Lance hoists himself off the couch and holds a hand out to Keith. “I’ll give you a ride.”

They make it there in under fifteen minutes.

Keith unbuckles his seatbelt but doesn’t move to get out. His gaze stays fixed on the dashboard. “Just, give me a call or a text whenever you want me,” he looks at Lance, “and I’ll be there.”

Lance blinks.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.” And watches Keith as he climbs out of the car and they exchange quiet goodbyes.

“Keith?” Lance calls out just before he shuts the car door. “Thank you. For spending time with me.”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but he smiles a little half smile that tells Lance he enjoyed their evening too.

And as Lance watches Keith disappear into his apartment building, he thinks this is going to be worth it. It’s going to be good for him somehow. Fun, hopefully, and distracting in the best ways.

There’s inklings of doubt, worry, fear, of course. There always are. But he shoves them to the backburner because it’s time for something new. He’s a sugar daddy now.

And Lance thinks the title suits him well.


End file.
